
1 1 



WITH .ILLUSTRATKOi 



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x'Q i i.i know n> ii; n < 

you. mount al ij I 
High or, hill and - foJ 
Far I roil al al tVni ■ 

An- 

Poised in the ait? 

Li m i]< deep-d' nvtuv w I, 

Now h--i'\ ti"'.'. tli'i-' 

Tim lUgfl I: rtV 1:1 i ''in 

l! | • 6|1 : 

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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

GN-- -~ Owelty 

Shclf\d?£f£ 

mf- 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POINTS OF INTEREST 



GLOUCESTER IN S0N( 



J. 



ccflUh .I.Uustvutions. 



CLARENCE MANNING FALT, 
1894. 




lye Z^^T' 



BOSTON: 

VI I RED MUDGE & SON, PRINTERS 

No. 24 Franklin Street. 

1 8 9 -1 . 









l 'l A.RENI B M.\ 



3"o tljr i«rmori> 

1 1 1 

MY D i: A R r \ F( ' R GOTTEN MOTH E R , 

III I s HUMBLE VOLUM E 

i I F \' E R s E 

is AFFECTION A I' I. LV DEDIC ATI'. I). 

CLARENCE MANNING FALT. 



INTRODUCTION. 



Again I offer to my friends and the public in general my 
humblt cravings from the Muse of Poesy, trusting that they 
may interest and give pleasure to my readers. To those 
who have grown up from childhood amid the grandeur and 
solemnity of these scenes, to the stranger who has become 
familiar with them, may their hearts be quickened with a 
keener appreciation for, and a deeper sympathy with, all that 
has made Gloucester and its suburbs charming and historic. 

It is with no pretensions that I offer this hook of verse to 
my readers, cognizant of the fact that there is much crudity 
in the writings. Hut trust that after the wheat is sifted hits 
of golden grain may be found among the chaff. 

Sincerely, 

I LARENCE MANNINC, I'AI.I. 
Sept. 19, i > 



CONTKNTS. 



'I'm Watcher . 

1 1 1 \ F Waving < rRASs . 

Fi ii . Bell \m > ffm iling Bui iy, Eas 
The Old Fi irt, E « 1 1 rn Foint 
In x Macki KM. ( ll II- 
NlGHI I \l I. AT BRA< I 'S CO\ i: 

I in Bemo Ledges 

l ii Gei iri iiemen 

M.iiiii i; Ann .... 

I,' Wild Con mbine 

Under the Kelp 

Nii .11 1 1 mi. at Turk's Head 

To \ I. in 

An Arbi iis. 

Al I I K I HE Sti IRM 

A June Morning 

\ I i i iend of 'i he Whipping Post, \l 

Toward Norman's Woe . 

To \ Hi I I I RFLY 

'I Ml I Ii IRY Fl I II 

A I MIL Hi IME ' »F I III. Ill Ii IRIAN B 

M\ Native Hills 

Lot's Wife 

The I >i mm i if the Skiri'i r 

A . \i i ii Morning . 

The Sea Gulls 

To i in Annisquam River 

I Ml I I I RRINi - I | IRI HERS . 
'I'ii 'I HE Wll I OWS hi l\l\ F.RDALE 

A Win in-'- I >\\ vi Rape's Ch vsm 
The Rivals .... 
A i Patch Willows . 
'I m Bell, the Whisi le, and i he 
The Slip ..... 



M 
'5 
16 
18 

25 
27 

.3" 
31 
35 
38 

39 

40 

■I- 
45 
46 
48 
54 
55 
58 
59 
64 
66 

67 

7' 
72 
75 
76 
78 
83 
85 



CONTl \ S. 



I'\ i NINO \ r WlNi I VI RSH 

The Bi ki m a ["Ska . 

At Bass Roi-ks 

The I'V.mi kmkn 

My Heroes 

The Iki in t !ri iss it Maon 

The First S\. iv i>i 

To a Cu< 1 . 

A L' I'll. I ON Ci i\ K 

The Bi uets 

The t !r is i*i r 

The I'ii i d Mil e 

\ 1 > \ s Willi Sil IKKS.PE VRI 
Till' I )ISI II VRI II 

I'o iin Heroics i 

When W inos hi « Dead 
E\ i ninci \ i Nii.es Bi vch 
A Kid i ' iH his Ki i p 
I . > \ Messina I inni i 

LORE1 

\ Winter Banker 

On i \> 1 1 \i\ I > \\ 



\1 .11 l.'I'UI 

\ll I \\1 



87 
90 

93 

97 
98 



THE WATCHER. 

Below the furrowing pebbles high, 

Where black weeds drift and foam birds fly 

Where crowen feast and gull, and 1 i 

Echoes the sea's Ledeyean rune, 

Where hull and helm lie useless things, 

And pensively the hill bird sings, 

Where fragrant hoofs of wand'ring kine 

Have fashioned quaint pathways, most divine, 

Through violets blue, and May blooms white, 

And roses sweet as the even's light, 

A carven face looks up to me, 

On the threshold of the mighty sea. 

With massive brow, intrenched with cares, 
Piercing the heart of the north, it stares. 
The mid-vault of the arching sky 
Tense to the stare of its riv'n eye. 
His mighty throat that seems to breathe, 
The white foams coralet and wreathe, 
While ghostly from his voiceless lips, 
The wrathful tempest sullen drips 
Though passion, with a tortured soul, 
Had read the deep, a craven scroll, 
And bade those silent lips to speak 
Some mystic rite, it fierce would wreak. 

In fluted robes of kelpen gold, 
Strange fashioned in the ocean old, 
His mighty form, dark-hid, unseen, 

Lies adamant 'neath billows green : 

7 



THE WATCHER. 

Stern with the aspect of affront, 

He heedless hears the deep's weird chaunt, 

Or even swerves, when, white as down, 

The billows thronged with rent weeds brown, 

And phosphors sparkling to their hem, 

His mighty brow doth diadem, 

And crown him silent, fierce, and free, 

Knveiled in awe and mystery. 

I look on him, and strange descry, 
The slumbering ages, hovering nigh. 
Time with his sculptors, gaunt and old. 
Carving the sea-cliff, dank and bold, 
Rounding the forehead, high and true, 
Bringing the lines of care to view, 
Giving the eye its piercing stare, 
Sinking the cheek with its despair, 
Moulding the lips and firm round chin, 
Waking the phantom soul within, 
Fulling the massive throat divine, 
Perfect with many a veined line. 

When Boreal spreads its flaming fan, 
And girts eternity's broad span, 
And cressets of the meteor's blaze 
To light the ghost birds on their ways, 
To breed and brood upon the world 
A fairy throng of phantoms pearled, 
And all the shores a marbled hall, 
Where canny spirits seem to call, 
And pale, a frightened thing at bay, 
The gray east, leads the shivering day 
Adown the frost stairs of the morn, 
Like one forgotten and forlorn. 



THE WATCHER. 

And like weird argosies of death, 

Athrough the vapor's purpling breath, 

As if by Charon phantom led, 

When night uplifts her Stygian head. 

You faint descry the fisher fleet, 

Gulfed where the ice-clogged combers beat 

Deep furrows in the laboring sea, 

Tossing against infinity, 

Far out, where seems the sky to lean 

Recumbent on the billows green, 

Far out, where phosphors kiss the stars 

Through em'rald screens of frostlike bars. 

Far out where white-winged sea gulls go, 
Like ghostly couriers of the snow, 
Their white breasts breathing on the wave 
Some sweet tryst Aphrodite gave 
Lonor Ions: as:o, when Love ne'er died, 
And Poesy, her garlands tied 
On great Olympus, myrtle crowned, 
The while the Muses danced around, 
When beautiful, from out the deep, 
She passion-woke the god of Sleep, 
And gave her spirit unto Time, 
Forever for the seas to chime. 

Still pillowed in the sea-drenched ledges, 
Gulched by time's mysterious wedges, 
Where bellowing race the shattered seas, 
Like frenzied white-foamed coyotes 
Roving the prairies of the deep, 
Spray-spent and drenched, he watch doth keep. 
Though prostrate slab and shattered scroll 
Lie symboling a Past's great whole, 



THE WATCHER. 

And records torn from Chaos' grasp 
Time read, the wrinkling shores do clasp, 
Full with the themes of ages' lore 
The exodus of tempests store. 

And columns grand as Karnak's own, 

Lift where the damp blue film is thrown 

To mingle in the purer air, 

And fade into the mystic, where ? 

And life has waked from slumbering sleep 

The stern-delved secrets earth did keep, 

And night and day, upon the main, 

The argosies of traffic's train, 

White pinioned, wing, where'er you scan, 

Ferreting out the plans of man, 

Conservative, a mystery, 

He ferrets the infinity. 



NOTE. — This wonderful phenomenon of Time and Nature was discovered by me in one 
of my many strolls of the coast. For years I have held its secret my own, until this July of 
1894, when I made the knowledge of its existence known. I leave it to the public to judge 
whether it is worthy my adulations. Though the name I have given it, "The Watcher," 
may sound commonplace, its riven stare, its piercing eye, have ever cried to me that some- 
thing far away within the great infinity, beyond the thoughts and suds .,f men, it silenl si 1 -. 
It stands facing h= north, midway of that part of the coast known as the " High Pebbles." 



TO A FIELD OF WAVING GRASS. 

Tiiou't the people of nature, 

Oh emerald mass ! 
The yeomen of Flora, 

Oh waving grass ! 
The sea of the bee, 

And the carpet of earth, 
The fair nursery 

Of spring's sweet birth. 

Thou't the insect's Rialto, 

The daisy's sweet mart, 
The gym of the swallow 

To practise his art. 
The acolyte prostrate, 

Demeter bends low, 
When the sun god is late 

And the withered leaves blow. 

The palette of sunbeams, 

The tapers of dew, 
The couch of man's dreams 

To memory's review. 
The feeder of life 

To beast and of man ; 
The calm veil o'er strife 

When the heart's blood it ran. 

Thou't the shroud of the grave, 
Dark hid, and sweet seen ; 

The zephyr's sweet slave 
To sway and careen. 



TO A FIELD OF WAVING GRASS. 

A beautiful world 

In thyself, vast and free. 
A power grand hurled 

Iu one great unity. 

Thou symbol'st the truth 

That nothing shall die, 
Beshriveled, uncouth 

( )r lovely thou lie, 
The emblem divine 

That thrones high above 
The beautiful sign 

Of eternal love. 

Thou matin the morn 

And vesper the eve, 
The jewels fair born 

When earth ceased to grieve. 
E'en in thy humbleness 

Where'er I pass 
I see God and bless 

Thee, beautiful grass. 



FOG BELL AND WHISTLING BUOY, EASTERN 
POINT LIGHTHOUSE. 

Two voices send .1 welcome cry, 

Two voices, through the mists and rain ; 
With matted locks, and sunken eye, 
Ho I ancient fisher, hack again ? 

For thee, for thee, we welcomes roll, 
Whii,.! Whoo! Toll — Toll! 

Ho ! gwy gulls, tired, sweeping on, 

Not long the fogs shall blind thy way ; 
Red mussels thou shall feed upon, 
'Mid creamy lace that hems the hay ; 
But patient wait to cheer they roll, 
Whoo! Whoo! Toll — Toll ! 

Ho! brave young hearts that toil unseen, 
We hear the creak of kelp-draped oar, 
When o'er the cobble frail you lean, 
And pull the glistening net to shore, 
Beware the reel, beware the shoal, 
Whoo! Whoo! Toll — Toll! 

Ho! weary hearts, why wail and weep? 

Why eager watch with faces wan ? 
A stern-kept tryst from them we keep, 
To louder cry, to sharper clang, 

When cold white fogs would tierce control, 
Whoo! Whoo! Toll — Toll! 

By day, by night, in the red light's glare, 
Each voice is heard, each form is seen ; 
One alone by the tower fair, 

One in the sea enrobed in green, 

While ever brave they welcomes roll, 
Whoo! Whoo! Toll — Toll! 



THE OLD FORT, EASTERN POINT. 

Bloodless monument of carnage, 

Bloodless monument of fray, 
Shrine of Flora's fondest homage, 

Crumbling slowly to decay ; 
By the harbor, refuge keeping, 

By the broad, blue ocean old, 
May that peace, around thee sleeping, 

Guard stern war, years manifold- 
Fragile flowerets 'round thee growing, 

Blooming o'er no lonely grave ; 
Murm'ring brooklets, sweetly flowing, 

Guiltless of one rubied wave; 
Birds, bright sunshine, happy pleasure, 

Beauties fair, bedeck thy sod, — 
Children of Demeter's leisure 

Teaching man to rev'rence God. 

Virgin relic of sad strife, 

Bloodless mark ol liberty, 
That to nightly hearts gave life, 

Boundless as eternity, 
Peaceful sleep, unmarrcd as yet, 

By no ruthless tyrant's hand, 
In thy floral dreamland set, 

By sweet sylvan breezes fanned. 



H 



TO A MACKEREL GULL, 

W'iiai wind e'er blew mad enough for thee 
Frail little wanderer, tempest blown? 

Bewild'ring sprite of the deep blue sea, 
Is fear unto thee a thing unknown ? 

From mighty billows, sea-drenched and tossed, 
Soaring aloft, 'mid the clouds to roam 

To dizzying heights, a moment lost 

Back, back again 'mid the seething foam, 

Whirling, careering, screaming, fretting, 
Snatching the bits of the rended weed, 

On snowy plumes, a moment resting 
Vying with them in furious speed. 

The mad'ning kiss of the ocean's crest, 
The parting glance of some sunset old, 

Still lingers soft on thy milk-white breast, 
And on thy delicate beak of gold. 

The love of some unforgotten eve 

Has Fancy wove on thy wings outspread; 

And. not content, did tenderly leave 
I ler sweet caress on thy graceful head. 

Night and her myriad shining gems 
Illuminate thy bright eyes of jet. 

What jewels in princely diadems 
Of rarer worth, or finer set? 



NIGHT-FALL AT BRACE'S COVE. 

The gray eve sinks upon the sea, 

And, like leviathans asleep, 
The Brace Rocks lift their masonry 
Above the deep. 

Love semis its notes, and voices sweet 
Respond from every hill and glade, 
While kine with meadow-scented feet 
Seek sylvan shade. 

The buttercups and daisies white 

With dewy burdens bend to earth. 
Who meets them with caresses light 
For sleep's sweet birth. 

The clovers bend each tasselled head, 

Weary, as evening zephyrs kiss, 
As if from day they sweet had wed 

Enough of hi iss. 

The croaking rooks and sea-gulls hie 

To loud old haunts they ne'er can leave, 
And wing across the azure sky 
For rest's retrieve. 

The silver sails to shadows lade 

Where sea and sky do seem to meet, 
As if there night for aye had made 
Its biding seat. 



Mm? ■ 




NIGHT-FALL AT BRACE'S COVE. 17 

As if 1 1' 'in heaven sweel stars oik e fell, 
The o( 1 .mi b( aeons lighl the aight, 
And flash ai ro is • a< h heaving swell 
Their ruddy light. 

The snowy phosphors flashing liiss 

Till e\ ery sea like .1 bride is veiled, 
And hurries on, for some sweet kiss 
That love has failed. 

Oh, blissful time I when o'er the bearl 

[oy's tender impulses do How, 
When Day bids .ill her cares depart, 

And suns sink low. 

Oh, happy time ! when nature leaves 

I pon the soul Iht pi( tures fair, 
.And .in almighty Power weaves 

.\ balm to care. 



THE BEMO LEDGES. 

Out from the mother-land, 
Monarchs enthroned they stand, 
Work of Almighty's hand, 
Ages ago. 

Draped is each lofty height 
With evening's splendors bright 
While a sea, lazulite, 
Sweetly doth glow. 

Children of nature free, 
Birds of the dark blue sea, 
Knowing not aught but glee, 
With pinions low ; 

Crowneth each knightly head, 
By a divine hand led, 
To a divine love wed, 
Ages ago. 

In lace by mermen knit, 
Sea-gulls in splendor sit, 
Fleet brants to coverts flit, 
While weird and low, 

Shrill o'er each rocky hall 
Loons to their mates low call, 
As the dark shadows fall 
O'er the Bemo. 
is 



THE BEMO LEDGES. 19 

Out from a world of night, 
Silent in chaos dight, 
Clove they God's holy light, 
Ages ago ? 

Or from grim Arctic's blight, 
Hid in the glaciers white, 
Hurled in some ghostly flight, 

Ages ago ? 

Wrapped in some phantom tomb, 
Floating the silent gloom, 
When nought but void did loom, 
Ages ago, 

What eye beheld or saw 
They in their ghostly awe, 
Working God's wond'rous law, 
Ages ago ? 

Saw they the Norsemen's sail, 
Far from where winds do wail, 
Out from the snow and hail, 
Ages ago ? 

Lief with his stalwart crew, 
Braving the ocean blue, 
Dreaming of bright worlds new, 
Ages ago ? 

Saw they the birch canoe 
Float in the cove so blue, 
Filled with its swarthy crew, 
A ces aero ? 



THE BEMO LEDGES. 

Saw when the pirate came. 
Heard they the cry of shame, 
Saw they the eye aflame, 
Ages ago ? 

Welcomed that saintly race, 
Pilgrims with tired face, 
By them some resting place, 
Ages ago ? 

Heard they their voices chime 
Sweet in some saintly rhyme, 
They knew that happy time, 
Ages ago ? 

Kneeling in silent prayer, 
White locks and gold, bowed there. 
Maidens lovely and fair, 
Ages ago ? 

Years they have passed and fled; 
Still from each weary bed, 
Lifting each hoary head, 
Like long ago; 

Furrowed by ages old, 
Furrowed by winters cold, 
Furrowed by Boreas bold. 
Stand the Bemo. 

Bearding still wind and rain, 
Gashed by the treach'rous main, 
Like Lear in woe again, 
Stand the Bemo. 



THE BEMO LEDGES. 

Kissed by the summer's wave, 
Tender as Lear sad gave 
Over Cordelia's grave, 
Stand the Bemo. 

'Round them the shadows fall, 
Veiling with sable pall, 
While high above them all 
Twinkling stars glow, 

While o'er the heaving deep, 
Curlews belated sweep, 
Winging for rest and sleep, 
O'er the reefs low ; 

And as I homeward go, 
Burdened with thoughts that flow 
Of the dark long ago, 
Voices steal low, 

Whisp'ring, could thev but speak 
Secrets thy heart doth seek, 
Wrapped in the land and deep 

< )f long ago ! 

Never! the winds do sigh, 
Never! the night birds cry, 
Never ! the sea moans by, 

< >l long ago. 

God holds their secret vast, 
Hid in the heavens vast, 
lie knows the misty past 
( )f long ago. " 

Placed by his mighty will, 
Placed by his wond'rous skill, 
They but his mission fill, 
Ages ago. 



THE GEORGIEMEN. 

When the snows fall thick, 

And the sea is dark. 
And the winds are quick, 

And the shore's gray mark 
Is a hideous thing to the human eye 
When the sea-birds wing 

With a scream and cry, 
When the Red Lights flash 

Is the life blood's gleam, 
Through spray and through splash 

The Georgiemen stream. 

Like phantom reapers 

Of gatherless fields, 
Where fate's stern keepers 

Death's fruitage yields, 
They dreary sail, 

And they weary haul, 
When wild winds wail, 

Or weird winds call, 
And seas grow green 

With hate and wrath, 
The Georgiemen glean 

For the aftermath. 

When the moon is bright, 

And its silver wake, 
In the winter night 

Like diamonds break, 
Like a Holy Grail 

Bestrewn with <rems, 



THE GEORGIEMEN. 23 

Then with silver sail 

And with silver helms, 
Like spirit crafts 

From the land of dreams 
That fancy drafts, 

The Georgiemen gleams. 

When cold rains fall, 

And drenched and wel 
The sea-gulls call 

With pensive fret, 
O'er top-masts high 

And lab'ring sail, 
And madly fly, 

And scream and rail, 
And headlong dive 

With plunging swoops, 
Like bows alive 

Or living hoops, 

The Georgiemen sail, 

And in their flight, 
Go old men pale 

And frail youths slight, 
The brawny arm 

And the nerveless limb, 
The face too calm 

For anything ; 
Go home and love, 

And wills to dare ; 
Go lives above 

The thought of care; 



24 THE GEORGIEMEN. 

Go bone and marrow, 

Foundations all, 
The blood-red harrow 

At Freedom's call, 
The color-bearers 

Of industry, 
The hero wearers 

Of liberty ; 
Go living scrolls 

Of a questioned fame, 
Indifference rolls 

In a blazing shame. 

Go men in form, 

Not part, but whole, 
With life-blood warm 

I n heart and soul ; 
Go lives who dare 

A treacherous deep, 
Who oft much spare 

Who should much keep 
Go souls who yearn 

For better things 
Than cod-lines turn 

For offerings. 



MOTHER ANN. 

Like some grim sorceress she sits, 

Stern visaged on her couch of doom ; 
Above her, fierce the nightwrack flits, 

Below her, yawns the ocean's tomb 
Like some grim Fate that Death has sent, 

Whose pulseless heart Grief never stirred; 
Stern fashioning some weird intent, 

To mortal eyes unseen, or heard, 
She looks out on the sea and world, 
Like sad Prometheus manacled. 

Brave sent'nel o'er her faithful watch, 

Wrapped list'ner to some longing tryst, 
The East Light lifts its blood-red torch, 

Illumining night's ebon mist. 
The sea-gull folds its tired wing 

In sleep upon her sea-drenched breast, 
I ttcring cries, as if to bring 

Repose unto her strange unrest; 
While, like sighs from her lifeless soul, 
Round her the great waves heave and roll. 

Stern mother, with thy face of care, 

Immovable to human gaze, 
What hope, what sign doth bid thee dare 

To watch for aye across the waves ? 
Dost think to hear some sea-king's cheer 

Come ringing proud across the sea ? 
Or does the Red Light's beacon clear 

Again remind some pirate glee ? 
Or dost thou, from thy rocky bed, 
Behold the ghosts of drowned men dead ? 

25 



26 MOTHER ANN 

Stern mother, as I look on thee, 

Birth of the ravages of Time, 
Indifferent, both to wind and sea, 

Its wrath and ceaseless pleading chime; 
If, that thy granite lips could ope ! 

If, but thy voiceless lips could speak ! 
No more my struggling thoughts would grope, 

But like a flame each thought would leap, 
And on the wonders thou wouldst tell, 
Weave o'er my soul a fadeless spell. 



THE WILD COLUMBINE. 

Where the smooth white pebbles shine, 

Each to me a tablet fine, 

On which seas sad murnrring sign 

Lispings of a love divine, 

Bloom the sweet wild columbine ; 

Richly hung with ruby bells, 

Lovely lined with golden cells, 

Kinging o'er the ocean swells 

Gossip of the fields and fells, 

Of the loveliness of May. 

Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle they, 

To the foamy rippling spray 

Dancing on the sun-kissed bay. 

As I wend my joyous way 

In the waning light of day 

Sleepy birds pipe through the gray 

While each bell doth seem to say, 

Time is fleeting, tinkle, tinkle, 

Love, our beauties now you greet ; 
Evening dews, come, sprinkle, sprinkle, 

Store our cells with nectar sweet. 

Velvet bees, come, tinkle, tinkle, 
hill your combs e'er yet we leave ; 

Gentle rains, come, sprinkle, sprinkle 
Petaled beauties to retrieve 

Humming-birds, come, tinkle, tinkle, 
Gemmed with em'ralds rich and rare; 

Swallows, where the pale stars twinkle, 
Speed our glories ev'rywhere. 

27 



2S THE WILD COLUMBINE. 

Butterflies, with gold, rich weighted, 
Tinkle, tinkle, sweet they sound, 

With our scented pollens freighted, 
Waft our perfumes, homeward bound 

Lovely maiden, with thy dimples, 
With thy chestnut locks of gold, 

Ev'ry ruby bell now tinkles, 

Take what all our hearts do hold. 

For you, for you, we have waited, 
Tinkle, tinkle, sweet they sound, 

To thy heart, with love rich freighted, 
Let our beauties ujaward bound. 

Let our mem'ries ever linger, 
Tinkle, tinkle, long to you, 

Rang each ruby bell, whose ringer 
Was an heav'nly father true. 

Lovely flowers, soon forgotten, 
Fading where the wild waves beat 

By the wrecks, decayed and rotten, 
What a lesson you do speak ! 

Waking in my heart, sad dreaming 
Of the preciousness of youth, 

Flooding it with sun-light streaming 
From the glorious realms of Truth. 

Waking in my soul a yearning 
To renew bright gifts one gave, 

Flung away, while passion burning 
Stern kept back a hand to save. 



THE WILD COLUMBINE, 29 

Sparkling in my heart o'erteeming, 

Precious jewels long I 've hid, 
Now, in purer lustre streaming, 

As thou sweeter thoughts do bid. 

Voiceless commands, from God given, 

Thou illume my heart, and tell 
Of the wonderland of heaven 

In the magic of your spell. 



UNDER THE KELP. 

Under the kelp and weeds from the seas, 
Coated with sands and maggots and fleas. 
Snaked and drenched with the oozing of rot, 
A vile stench under a red sun hot, 
A thing once human to life and love, 
Lies under the crowen that peck'n above. 

Glossy and black, like imps from hell. 

They caw and wrangle and scream and peck, 
They crush in madness the mussel shell, 

To beak the stump that was once a neck, 
While the sea rolls down, and the maggots crawl, 
And the sand ileas hop o'er a tangled trawl. 

A sandpeep lights on a rubber boot 
Half hid in a tattered mass of rags. 

Another pecks a gray stocking foot, 

A torn and wedged, twixt two rocky jags, 

While the tide rolls down, and, gasping, spout 

The white sea clams, in the sands about. 

Dark hid in the brak'n a theaking its nest, 
A cuckoo moans, in the gloom of a sun, 

He warp'ns the hair from a dead man's breast, 
And croaks to a summer that 's hardly begun, 

While the sea rolls down, rolls down and stops, 

And the red sun fierce like a blood clot drops. 

(Jul v a bit ol an awful .scene, 

From the graveyards of the deep, 
Hurled when the billowy waves were green 

For some waiting soul to keep, 
For a rev'l and feast, tocarron and rot, 
And lengthen and breadthen the waste — foreot. 



NIGHTFALL AT TURK'S HEAD. 

I.im twinned barbaric kohinoors, 

The lights of Thatcher's gleam; 
.And o'er the sweel Cape Hedgeian shores, 

I heir flashing splendors stream ; 
Charybdian like, the great waves clasp 

The Lands End's rugged breast, 
Like living things they breathe and gasp, 

Then, prostrate, swirl to rest. 

Like throngs oi phantoms dancing, 

To mermen of the deep, 
In rythmic moods entrancing, 

.\s to and fro they sweep, 
Far, way out, the loams are waving 

White signals to and fro, 
Where the Londoner lies raving, 

A hideous thing below. 

Vying with the beacons passing, 

Starlike o'er the em'rald pines, 
Ev'ry wave its glory glassing, 

Now, the Light of Straitsmouth shines 
Like a ruby censer swaying 

'Twixt infinity and sea, 
Lighting spirit fingers playing 

Some immortal symphony, 

And I, bird-like from the headlands, 
Watch the eyes of llesper close, 

As the night uplifts her dusk hands 
Peaceful o'er her lids of rose. 



NIGHTFALL AT TURK'S HEAD. 

And, the twinkling jets of heav'n 
Twin themselves within the deep, 

And the Pleiads, sisters seven, 

Woo the phosphors as they sweep. 

Till, like one great, vast, Rialto, 

Earth, and sea, and heav'n unite, 
While the phantoms of the ages, 

Spectral convene to my sight, 
Till each jutting reef seems listening, 

Silent, as my list'ning soul. 
Peeping from the phosphors glist'ning, 

As sweet bells of Time low toll. 

Then to mystic clang and pealing, 

Dreamlike music, sweet and low. 
Flash's the Orient, revealing 

Glories of a long ago. 
Proud barbarians, haughty, marching, 

Spurred by Allah to fierce strife, 
Turkish maidens, dark eyes arching, 

In the cimeter and knife. 

Trasabigzanda, moaning, signing, 

As the mosque chimes deeper swell, 
Meldrick to his archers crying, 

'Mid the surging infidel; 
Regal, drenched with life-blood flowing 

0[ the Christian, and the Turk, 
And the English Smith's eyes glowing, 

As the deadly flint-locks work ; 

Till life's wine flows like a river 
Through the waving rose-fields sweet, 

And the jasmine petals quiver, 

Dewed with spurting life-blood's heat. 



MGHTFAL I. AT TURK'S HEAD. 

As the cries to Allah fainter 

Ring above the mosque bells' chime 

And Death, like an hideous painter, 
I >eeper dusks the soul of Time ; 

Till the passion of I he red East 

Veils itself in its own blush, 
And pale Charon waits the grim feast, 

I >eath has spread with silent hush ; 
And the stagg'ring fields of roses, 

Blighted, drink the heart's red wine, 
Till a single combat closes, 

What the years have held divine. 

Proud, undaunted, lo, I see him, 

'Mid the Christian and the Turk, 
While a crapen veil like pale film, 

Ghostly, 'bove two dark eyes work, 
Flut'ring from a latticed bower. 

Shaded from the ( >i ient's blaze, 
By proud minaret, and tower, 

( )i the good old Moslem days. 

And the white veil sways and lingers 

As the fragrant zephyrs blow, 
Clutched within two jewelled fingers, 

That ln's eyes too well do know. 
And it spurs him on lo daring, 

As he lifts his great sword high, 
Though its mighty blade is wearing 

Still afresh the life-blood's dye. 

Once, the great blade sings and flashes 
Twice, it twins the Orient's glare, 

Thrice, 'gainst human flesh it clash( . 
Till the sad East, cries, Beware ! 



33 



34 NIGHTFALL AT TURK'S HEAD. 

As the headless Moslems stagger 
In the frenzy of their blood, 

And the startled pheasants lagger, 
To wing over bloom and bud. 

And the white veil at the lattice 

No more flutters to his view, 
For unseen, a grief thrown kiss, 

Has the jewelled fingers threw. 
Lily, of the red East's fashion ! 

Hero, that the years have swelled ! 
How the night surfs flung love's passion 

As they leaped, and foamed and welled. 



TO A LILY. 

With chalice sweel perfuming, 

My heart and soul entombing, 
And all the world illuming, 

The regal beauty stands ; 
Fairest of all the flowers, 
Cheering my wintry hours, 
1 lappy, in cot or bowers, 

Birth of the Afric lands. 

Through Karnak's columns blending 
Came Ramcses' queen, slow wending. 
Her olive lips soft sending 

Thy praises long ago ? 
'Neath lore leaf papyrus waving, 
Hy Engaddi's shrined paving, 
The blue Nile kisses laving, 

Did once thy beauties show ? 

Wreathed thou the magic Cydnus? 
The river Love has thrilled us 
By the lotus-fringed Indus, 

Pale beauty, long ago ? 
Sawst thou the galleys wending, 
The royal barge descending, 
With Nubian oarsmen sending 

One's praises long ago ? 

When Turn sank red and florid, 
The " old man " crooked, and horrid, 
Upon the parched plains torrid, 
I'. ilc beauty, long ago ? 

35 



36 TO A LILY. 

Heardst thou the jackals crying, 
By the grim Anubis lying, 
Son of Osiris vying 

To lay the Typhon low ? 

Sawst thou, for knowledge seeking, 
The Pastophori, herbs reaping? 
Gazelles in herds, sleek sweeping 

To Isis, dark and grim ? 
Heardst thou from Memnon lonely, 
As from heaven pure and holy, 
Sweet music stealing slowly 

To some funereal hymn ? 

Watched thou the Uraeus creeping, 
The warm sun venom steeping, 
From its sluggish body sweeping 

Through thy fragrant tangles thick? 
With glist'ning fangs, quick leaping, 
Life or Death within its keeping, 
Watched its long, lank body heaping 

Behind some papyrus rick ? 

Up, some mighty Pylon striving, 
Heardst thou the captives sighing 
'Neath cruel burdens dying, 

Pale beauty, long ago ? 
'Neath the spears of Ra descending, 
Watched his sad life slowly wending, 
Saw the lash, with Death contending, 

Pale beauty, long ago ? 

From war, fierce plunder seeking, 
Saw the Schasue in blood reeking, 
start the stork, the morass beaking, 
By some Semitic stream ? 



TO A LILY. 

As he bent o'er thy face holy, 

Saw his (kirk fare, scarred and scroly, 

With sin writ on it wholly, 

Where thy sweet blooms did dream ? 

Heardst thou the blithe upringing, 
When from Chennu gay came springing, 
Fair youths, for Mora, winging, 

To play some happy game ? 
Or when Horus woke the morning, 
Saw at Besa's shrine adorning, 
Mighty Pharaohs low fawning 

To some eunuch's loud acclaim ? 

At night-fall by some river. 
Did some roselit ripple quiver, 
Some bleating victim, shiver 

When with majestic roar, 
Came the desert's mighty scion, 
The fierce Numidian lion, 
To quaff with jowls of iron 

Some cataract's outpour? 

Soothed thou the sad upyearning 
When to the Gods, upturning, 
The Paraschute 'mid spurning, 

Lay prone before thy face? 
From the dark Necropolis balming, 
Soothed thou, each fear, alarming, 
Touched his brow, like hope sweet calming 

In some sequestered place ? 

Though ages grim have blundered 
And Allah's peace is sundered, 
And Christian cries have thundered 
And bathed thee with their blood, 



37 



38 TO A LILY. 

Still thou, oh saintly beauty, 
Still live to tell all duty, 
To faces, pale and sooty, 
The wonders of a God. 



AN ARBUTUS. 

A hit of snow, with a rose's kiss 

(If such a thing could he like this), 

Or a sunbeam caught on the trembling tip 

Of a little fairy's pouting lip ; 

Or a pearl, sad set in a virgin's blush, 
The chastity of a Lucrece might flush ; 
Or a bit of foam a rainbow 's kissed 
That spanned some fair Ausonian mist; 

Or a feather lost from the rose's set 
In a sweet Zenadia's coralet; 
Or a liquid drop of an April shower 
Titania kissed within her bower; 

Or a tear of joy, pale toil has drawn 
From out fame's chalice, worthy won; 
Or a kiss of love on the cheeks of hope 
To bid a human heart to grope. 



AFTER THE STORM. 

Hush ! hush ! sighed the waves in their roar, 

Hush ! hush ! leave him heir on the shore; 

A pillow of sea-weed, with laee of foam, 

Let s wreathe 'neath his head then let's ocean-ward roam 

Hush, hush, hush ! ah, so young and so fair, 

Like gleams of the sunlight the gold of his hair, 

Or like our own ripples, the blue of his eye, 

Or a bit of the heay'ns when calmly we lie. 

Then mosses, and sea-weeds they twined ere their flight, 

And then softly they kissed him, gentle and light. 

Peep, peep, cried the curlews, peep, peep, 

Look yonder, a boy lies asleep, 

He rests on a pillow of sea-weed and kelp, 

In the height of the storm, was it he who cried Help, 

When winging the reefs we looked toward the light, 

And saw on the waves that human face white? 

'T was him, 't was him, mark his gold curly head ! 

Let's bend the sea grass and make him a bed, 

And peck the wet sand from off of his hand, 

And from the white finger with gold jewel band. 

So young, and so fair, sighed the wind of the night, 
As it dried his clamp tresses and rippled them light, 
A-wafting sweet perfumes afloat on the air, 
That sank in Death's damp on his forehead so fair. 
Ah ! so young, and so fair, cried nature at morn, 
What an angel for heav'n the wild storm has born, 
The sea-grasses bent and low kissed his white brow 
Where the shadow of Death, for aye rested now; 
While from sea, and from hill, each bird winging by 
In the lull ot the storm, a sadness would cry. 
39 



A JUNE MORNING. 

Like little children cunning, 

Sped the meadow brooklets running, 

With scents of wild blue lilies, and pale anemone; 
Like voices sweet entreating, 
rhe rushes murmured greeting, 

While the blackbird sang to madness a song of jollity. 

All the little violets' faces 

Had been washed by meadow graces, 

Selected by Titania from out her regal train, 
While wee elfs paid strict attendance 
To sway the cow-slips' pendants, 

Asleep in bosky tangles, in the wildwood's dim domain. 

A lark divining gladness, 
In a whirl of merry madness, 

Had soared the welkin rapturous in song, 
Till in a blue cloud's lining 
1 .ike a tiny signet shining, 

lie seemed enthroned 'mid sunbeams, From all wrong. 

\ cal bird merry whistles 
To yellow birds 'mid thistles, 

A waxing like pink pompons to a breeze 
That fragrant floats, if borne 
From the rills of 1 telicon 
On the wings of Poesy's loved rhapsodies. 

\ wood-duck 'neath a willow 

I tad made a tiny billow, 

To i utile snowy petals ol lilies, till wee seas 



./ rr.xi- mok.x/xc 4t 

I )id mimic surge ashore 
Where mallows did outpour 
An holy love on fragrant .shrines <>l wild peas galaxies. 

When grief uplifts its signal, 
( )li, seek the sylvan dingle, 

The meadows and the hill brakes, the dusky woodlands 
deep, 
Roam sweetthrough Flora's bowers 

In the sadness of sneh horns. 

And bird and budding flowers will wake thy soul from 
sleep. 



A LEGEND OF THE WHIPPING POST, MIDDLE 
STREET. 

The quaint old street was calm and still, 

Like bits from rainbows hewn, 
The winds, the Autumn leaves at will 

Had fair the highways strewn. 
The unseen blasts with canny call 

Hide through the night-robed air, 
While like a watchman over all, 

The moon hung, full and fair. 

Like spectres 'gainst its silver mist, 

The towers weirdly shone, 
The veering vanes the night clouds kissed 

Divinely, one by one ; 
Bright lights of mirth 'mid revels vied 

Each mystic moon-beam's light, 
While, like a dazzling mirage tied, 

The sweet stars twinkled bright. 

Then slow athrough the mystic gleam, 

Adown the quaint, old street, 
I silent heard as in a dream. 

The tramp of ghostly feet. 
The phantom tread of footfalls light 

Keep pace to anger's cry, 
While through the silence of the night 

A throng went sweeping by. 

Then low I heard a mandate read 

To one who owned her wrong, 
And saw a maiden bow her he. id 

And shun the phantom throng. 



./ LEGEND OF THE WHIPPING POST. 

1 [er tangling i mis <>l jetty black, 
The winnowing winds had rent, 

Hung wavy down a supple back, 
As if by Pity sent. 

Blue veins within her while arms swell, 
And surge the life-blood's hue, 

Where cruel I hongS CUl deep to tell 

The binded wrists 'I h t rue. 
Red roses born oi hate and shame, 

l''.nw reathing each pale cheek, 
Compel her quivering lips to frame 

I )ark words, she dare not speak. 

Stern 'gainsl the surging phantom host, 
I lew n from I he [( irest's heart, 

I saw up! if 1 the Whipping Post, 

A gi ewsome thing of art, 
With iron ring-boll centred deep 
\\ ithin its forehead's Eorm, 

II seemed a ( '\< lop, woke from sleep, 

.\i thought ol life-bloi id warm. 

Then stern I heard from out the throng 

A voice that fiercely cried, 
The wench amid ns owns her wrong! 

I n shame lei her be tied ! 
Unto the waist, lay hare the back ! 

A ml on iis sm iwy drift, 
Let fifty lashes never lack 

To fall both sine and swift. 

Then like a startled fawn al hay, 
The i rembling Eve ol wrong 

They lead adown the molly way, 

Athrough the phantom throng. 



44 A LEGEND OF THE WHIPPING POST. 

Up from her bosom, white as pearls, 
Where rains of grief sad lav, 

They rudely brush the tangling curls 
Like jetty sylphs at play. 

Up to the frowning monster dark, 

Awaiting grim its prey, 
They lead the human snowdrift stark. 

To righten Chastity. 
The whipper, with his brawny arm, 

1 he sinewy lashes curl, 
While pitiless, he marks each charm 

That doomed the blighted girl. 

They bind each little playful tress, 

The arching neck lay bare, 
They rudely loose the homespun dress, 

That robes her body fair. 
They bracelet quick the fettered wrists 

Within the ring-bolt grim, 
The whipper bows his ugly fists, 

And lifts the lashes trim. 

Hiss! hiss! the stinging lashes fall; 
They plough the snowdrift deep, 

Till fifty furrows, large and small, 

In human life-blood sleep. 
Blood rubies clot the white bound arms, 

Life's garnets belt the waist, 
Blood rubies hang their sickening charms 

Around the wrists incased. 

Then swift I see the arms unbound, 
The wounded fawn stern led, 

Amid the hunter and the hound, 
Each proved a thorough-bred. 



A LUG END OF THE WHIPPING POST. 45 

They rudely litt the quiv ring mass, 

They loose each jetty curl, 
While stern they chide the fainting lass. 

The bruised and bleeding girl. 

Up o'er the quivering welts of flesh, 

They draw the homespun gown, 
The whipper wipes his lashy mesh, 

The Cyclop calms its frown. 
The moaning form they bear away, 

The phantom hordes recede, 
And only Silence holds its sway, 

Where Justice once had meed. 



TOWARD NORMAN'S WOE. 

Far in the West, where dark pines wave and bend 

Above whose crests the lights of heaven show, 

I see, engirt with foam, the Reef of Woe. 

And as I pensive gaze, my thoughts they wend 

To him, beloved bard, who sweet did send 

O'er this broad land, to highways rich and low, 

The legend of a night, long, long ago, 

When wind and sea for mast'ry did contend; 

When watch-bells tolled, 'mid childhood's questionings 

The shattered craft, the frozen father pale, 

With Death ice-robed upon the sea-spent shore. 

Lo ! as I gaze, sweet evening fades, and brings 

A solemn silence, wrapping hill and vale, — 

Night's benediction to the bard of yore. 



TO A BUTTERFLY. 

Wert thou born of Zephyrus, 

Little sprite ? 
Winning glances, 
Witching fancies, 

To delight ? 
Art thou hast'ning to implore 
Love to lighten some heart's shore 

Wrapped in blight ? 

Thou 't a merry charmer, 

Little thing ; 
Ev'ry bird and ev'ry flower 
Cherishes a trysting hour 

Thou wilt bring. 
Oh, what mortal would disown 
Such sweet charms to call his own 

That thou fling ? 

Thou 't so light and airy, 

Little one, 
Like some little fairy 

Full of fun 
Cuddling up to blossoms coy, 
Whisp'ring little words of joy 

In the sun. 

Who designed thy pinions, 

Little pet? 
Blue and gold, vermilions 

Richly set ; 

4 6 



TO A /UTTER FLY. 

Rare ia fret works of the rose, 
Like sweet bits of even's close 

Cut in jet ; 
From the Tundja's perfumed streams 

Hast thou flown ? 
Fragrant Karnlk wrapped in dreams. 

I lappy known ? 
Or sweet brought from Egypt fair, 
Some rare fragrance of its air, 

Tropic blown ? 

Happy little sprite above, 

Thou express, 
How God's soul, when lit with love^ 

Can impress ; 
How divine his might is seen 
In thy flut'rings o'er yon green 

Daisies bless. 



47 



THE DORY FLEET. 

When winter winds begin to blow, 

And cruel falls the snow and sleet, 
I watch in fear, so bravely go 

Out on the deep, the Dory Fleet. 
Each craft so frail, each skipper old 

Sd bent and bowed with age, 
One pair of oars for fierce winds bold 

I o row till anchorage, 
One loose hung sail, one creaking mast 

To go where sea-gulls go 
O'er yawning gulfs 'neath sea-weeds vast, 

Where Death leers pale below 
1 o diilt where drowned men's bones do lie 

All whitened in the kelp, 
Wherever winds do seem to sigh 

Like comrades sounding help. 

I watch them in the early morn, 

I watch them late at night, 
E'er yet the winter day is born, 

Come in or wing their (light; 
And ev'ry skipper is so old, 

So feeble and infirm, 
So easy now to feel the cold 

In life's declining term ; 
Oft when the mists come falling down 

And frozen sleet and snow 
Will robe each little craft like down 

And fierce the whistles blow, 
4 s 



THE DORY FLEET. 

And weird the winds will strangely moan 

And canny sound the horn, 
Like ghosts you'll see them drifting lone, 

Like phantoms pale and wan. 

There's Davy Grayson, he 's three score; 

All through the summer days, 
He '11 nod and sleep before his door 

And croon his old time lays; 
When robins 'mid the blossoms fair 

Do merry pipe their lays, 
Old Davy sits within his chair 

And dreams his childhood's days, 
Hut when the yellow leaves they fall, 

And stilled is robin's note, 
( )ld Davy seems to hear a call, 

And from the cove he '11 float ; 
He'll round the bend by old Black Bess, 

He '11 feeble peer and look, 
And in the shadows you would guess 

Old Davy was a spook ; 
He'll drop his line down in the deep, 

The gulls will scream, sweep by, 
And half the time he 's fast asleep 

And does not hear their cry. 
The great ships in from sea will hurl, 

And toss him all about, 
The black smoke from their stacks will curl 

And fierce the winds will shout. 
But Davy ever seems to win 
And breasteth every gale, 
And when the Dory Fleet comes in 
First Davy's yellow sail. 



49 



5° 



THE DORY FLEET. 

Old Orrin White, who 's nearly blind, 

I always fear for him, 
But, strangely, though, they say he '11 find 

His course, though sight be dim, 
His cobbles almost like the sea, 

All erreen with age and moss ; 
His hands turn blue, as blue can be, 

When high the waves they toss. 
They say he made a lucky hit 

One summer long ago. 
He went down on the sands to sit, 

Where smooth the breakers flow ; 
A painter chap he came along, 

And in a jiffy took 
Old Orrin for a poet's song, 

To picture up his book ; 
'T was something 'bout a mariner, 

So does the story go, 
Who did a wedding guest deter, 

And Orrin was for show ; 
He painted him beside a wheel 

That steered a Pinkey quaint, 
To see his beard 't would made you feel 

Old Orrin was a saint. 

And Orrin ever has been proud, 

To think he won em prize 
So late in life, when Death's dark shroud 

Almost around him lies. 
And though a laggard in the fleet, 

And last to leave the shore, 
And take such time to ease his sheet, 

When fierce the winds they roar, 
He always seems to be content 



THE DORY FLEET. 5, 

When all his mates, they chaff, 
And though of all the most o'er bent, 

He always wins the laugh. 
He '11 lift a golden eagle's shine 

And pipe where 's more at rest, 
Up in some old blue China fine, 

He brought from far Trieste. 

Old Orrin ever loves to tell 

Strange stories to delight; 
He dwells down by the old Fog Bell, 

Quite near the Eastern Light. 
And should you see the Dory Fleet 

Come ever sailing in, 
Perchance you may old Orrin meet 

Down by the breakers din ; 
You '11 know him by his feeble stride, 

And by each sunken eye ; 
They look as if his soul had cried 

For something far — way — high — = 
Poor Orrin never could quite roach, 

Poor Orrin ne'er could find ; 

He always had a different speech 

That seemed not like his kind. 
And when the Dory Fleet comes in, 

Or when the fleets they go, 
That ever seems to me a sin, 

They are so old, you know. 
The cobble that lies far behind, 

So ghostly in the sleet, 
Is Orrin White, who 's nearly blind, 

Of the quaint Dory Fleet. 



THE DORY FLEET. 

And then there 's old Giles Larcom, 

As daft as daft can be, 
Whose age, it is believed by some, 

To be near fourscore three. 
He saw the great brig " Persia " 

On Brace's Rocks go down, 
With many a foreign treasure 

And many a silken gown. 
He knows the time when all the reefs 

And ev'ry reedy cove, 
That now sad gleams as shattered leaves 

From nature's book, that strove 
For, oh, so long to give that life, 

The soul of man did love, 
Till earth drank deep Death's darkest Strife 

And marred a tryst above, 
Was lit with many a snowy wing. 

Calm, hov'ring o'er their young, 
Where now the gray wrens plaintive sing 

At setting of the sun. 

'T was he that saw the serpent grim 

Come out Rafe's Chasm drear, 
While yet the morning light was dim 

Above the pine tops near. 
'T was he that saw the sea so filled 

With codfish sleek and fine, 
That he a thousand quickly killed 

With neither hook nor line. 
'T was he that saw a great, black cloud 

Go sailing in the sky, 
That rent apart in thunders loud, 

When myriad birds did fly. 



THE DORY FLEET. 

'T was he that saw the pirate sink, 
Ami saw the shark's white teeth 

Bite him in hall e'er one could wink, 
And drat;' him underneath. 

Old Giles sat in Ids kitchen door, 

'T was only yester eve, 
The breakers rolled up to the shore 

Their messages to leave ; 
I camfi n|) through the evening's gloom, 

And e'er I turned the latch 
1 smelt the violets sweet in bloom 

Out in the pasture patch. 
He asked for Davy, Orrin While, 

And poor old Silas Gray 
Who had been dead for threescore quite 

His chums from childhood's day; 
He called for Tilda, poor old soul, 

Long dead for many a yen ; 
I passed her grave above the knoll 

Beneath the willows sere, 
And I saw old Giles was failing, 

I lis race was near complete. 
To heaven he 'II soon be sailing, 

And leave the I )ory Meet. 

And when way 'hove the shadows, 

1 Ie joins the throng above, 
And a Redeemer round him throws 

The mantle of his love, 
I know he '11 bid the angels guide, 

Until their journey ends, 
The cobbles frail that Davy rides, 

And one that Orrin tends. 



53 



54 THE DORY FLEET. 

And then there 's Billy Dobson, 

And poor old Jonas Snow, 
And jolly fat Mark Robson, 

And ugly old Tarn Stowe, 
And little Sandy Feathering, 

Who own their gear complete. 
The last to end this song I sing 

Of the quaint Dory Fleet. 



AT THE HOME OF THE HISTORIAN BABSON. 

Across gray sands and billows white with foam, 
Flecking dank grasses, rich in amber dress, 
Amid pines that waft the varying stress, 

Of winds melodious that seaward roam, 

I see in beauty clad a writer's home. 

And youth comes back, my boyhood's days none less, 
Again 1 spell, propound, and aptly guess, 

And meet his pleasant smile that oft did come. 
And as I gaze, changed with the years that hold 

Time's impress o'er my brow, I silent see 

His noble face, his courtly grace and mein ; 

Then grief dull wraps this daydream sweet of old, 
For happiest joys the earliest flee, 

Like mem'ry brings, in this sweet evening scene. 



MY NATIVE HILLS. 

I love, I do, my grand old hills, 
My native hills, so wond'rous seen, 

When melting snows bring bluebirds' trills, 
Or springing blade betokes the green. 

I love, I do, my grand old hills, 

And sweetest spots I '11 show to you ; 

I '11 wend to cowslip bordered rills, 
And bring you vi'lets white or blue. 

Or pick yon nectar laden glob< S, 
'Neath waxen i anopies of green, 

Resplendent in their scarlet robes, 
That wear the blush of Hippocrene. 

Or show you where the cattle resl 

When mounts the sun at summer's noon. 

Or what lone cliff is weirdest dressed 
When slowly fades the waning moon. 

I'll show you time-bleached logs all white, 
Amid the reedy seaweeds brown, 

And far-off cliffs, where birds in flight 
With tired wings have fluttered down. 

I 11 lean o'er bars all mossed with age, 
Where swings a red gate to and fro, 

And speak from childhood's happy page, 
And ask a toll e'er yet you go. 
55 



56 MY NATIVE HILLS. 

By moss-decked walls, in beds of brake, 
1 '11 show you where the crows alight, 

And where the wild-rose sweet doth make 
An hedge of beauty to delight. 

"Neath bending willows, gnarled and old, 
1 "11 bring you dainty lilies pale, 

Or bring you lilies robed in gold, 
That border bright an hazel vale. 

1 'II drink with you from a cool spring 
The red man drank long, long ago; 

It 's hid where trembling poplars fling 
Across your path a dim shadow. 

Or tell you, when at quiet eve, 

When tides are out and all is calm, 
Ami night begins to softly weave 

( ''or earth her soothing robe of halm. 

The choirs from vale and hill and lea 
Float down o'er tree and bush and mead 

And in the winrows from the sea, 
All undisturbed, all joyous feed. 

The blackbirds with their scarlet shields, 
The thrush with speckle-coated wing. 

And soaring" from the scented fields 
The lark the matin morn doth bring. 

All, all these sights are dear to me, 
And all I 've seen among the hills, 

From happy boyhood's hours so free, 
And e'en to-day when sorrow fills 



MY NATIVE HILLS. 57 

This heart of mine so prone to woe, 

This longing heart, with sad unrest, 
That watch the hills in summer's glow, 

And weary watch the hills snow-dressed. 

Great emblems of a mighty will, 

Fair graces so divinely wrought, 
Sweet birds, that all the woodlands fill- 

You lead me all to nobler thought. 

Whate'er my ways, if low I sink, 

Or upward find my pathway broad, 
Or left alone on Fate's grim brink, 

Thou 'It ever bring to me a God. 



LOT'S WIFE. 

Like Lot's wife riven in mute despair, 
With sight transfixed on the setting sun , 

A statue of silence wooed by care, 

She spectral stands in the day that's done. 

Like Niobe bowed with her weight of grief, 

She scans forever the dark seas waste; 
The look of a pent-up agony, 

Strange, pictured upon her haunted face. 

Like a fisher-mother by hope forsook, 

Ever .sad vigils divine to keep, 
Rigid she stands with her awful look, 

Facing the graves where her loved ones sleep. 

In pathways old where the willows bend, 
Murmuring, saving their prayers of yore, 

Silent I gaze, and silently wend, 
Silently seeing her more and more. 

Oh, rough, gray stone where the robins sung, 
Oh, rough, gray stone where the cattle passed, 

Oh, rough, gray stone where the red gale swung, 
With its sundered clasp in thy breast held fast. 

How the ehis'l of time has strangely hewn 
O'er thy rough, gray form a human sign, 

For ever to haunt 'neath the midnight moon, 
To ever remind in the day's decline. 



58 



THE DEATH OF THE SKIPPER. 

" Ha\ e traps erboard ter-night at one ! 
Be clear er wet, be wind er calm, 
I his loungin' 'round fer me is done, 
Not a minute after stroke of one, 

I he Norther, ter me, can bring no harm. 

"Skipper, Job Nelson's wife is sick, 
An' Job himself is well nigh done; 
Cal Ralfe, big Bill Connell, an' Dick 
Are down ter Ely's, raisin' nick; 
Don't sail ter-night at one." 

" Curse Big Connell, Cal Ralfe, an' Dick ! 

An' curse Job Nelson, too ! 
An' curse his wife, who 's always sick, 
An' his kid, who 's ever raisin' Nick, 

Nor say what I shall do!" 

" Yer liked m' say w'en Jack was drowned. 
M' strength that one did send, 
Ter let yer live 'bove sea an' ground, 
An' keep yer ever safe an' sound, 
Ah, skipper ! your best friend. 

" An', skipper, where m' nippers chafe, 

M' wrists do smart an' bleed. 
I don't think, skipper, it is sale, 
With only me an' Nate an' Lafe, 

Ter dare God's will fer greed," 

59 



60 THE DEA TH OF THE SKIPPER. 

" Who dares God's will fer greed ? say who ? 
I Ye got my craft ter pay, 
Nor will I list ter one like you, 
Or be dictated by a crew ; 
At stroke of one, I say. 

" I '11 down ter Ely's, right an' left 

I '11 clear his hellish gang; 

I '11 find if few will bear th' heft 

Ter work an' toil with fingers deft." 

Just then the fog bell rang. 

Unseen, unseen, cold damp and wet, 

The white fogs heard its cry, 
Like hideous things they rolled and boiled, 
And ghostly lifted fold on fold, 
Athwart the night-veiled sky. 

" I'll scar Nick Ely's bloated face, 
An' by th' collar drag 
Big Connell, an' that drunken case, 
Cal Ralfe, who never knew his place, 
Or owned an honest rag. 

" Ter find their gear, they've yet ter pay : 

Ter find their gear erdrift, 
In one great snarl since yesterday, 
Though ev'ry wave on ' Cash a ' lay 

A sight, my soul would lift. 

" Go bid Job Nelson leave his wife ! 
An' kiss his kid ersleep! 
If lulagagin' makes such strife, 
I 'm glad I 've led er single life, 
An' likely so ter keep. 



THE DEATH OF THE SKIPPER. 61 

Yer own traps, get Bel Lynch ter mend, 

Yer nippers that are torn, 
Er stitch or two she '11 swiftly send 
Er through the frays within the bend. 

An' here 's er pair some worn. 

II th' aboard before I come, 

An' hanker fer the fight, 
Take from them ev'ry bit er rum, 
'T is me, not them, that makes things hum 
An' hang up aft er light. 

Yer own gear get in shape, an' w'en 

Yer hear me loud halloo, 
Upon the hawser get yer men, 
I '11 be with yer by half-past ten 

With all my hellish crew." 

Just half-past ten they heard him call; 

Jim Donald and the rest ; 
The light up aft did dimly fall, 
Athrough the gray fog's clammy pall, 

Like death dew on each breast. 

'T was Nate that swung the dory 'round, 

And Lafe that brought the oars, 
And fob that made her swiftly bound, 
Athrough the fog like some mad hound, 

A-racing on all fours. 

1 le saw an ugly skipper's eye, 

Remembered last trip's share. 
To lose his place, he rather die, 
He heard a sick wife moan and cry, 

And saw a cupboard bare. 



62 THE DEATH OF THE SKIPPER. 

What wonder then, the fogs he broke, 

And made the slout oars creak, 
And tried to laugh when Nate did croak 
Because the spray did drench and soak 
Him, huddled in the peak. 

'T was just when Nate did try to lift 

His arm around the post, 
And l.afe did clear the sea-weeds drift, 
And the wind began to shift 

Up to the north the most. 

The dory shuddered 'gainst the snag, 

A dead man in the dark, 
That kept her from the pier to lag, 
And to the port a bit to sag, 

And leave the bloody mark. 

'T was just when Nate did draw the slip 

To make the painter tight, 
That Jim did touch the bloody rip, 
That ghastly hung 'twixt each ear's tip, 
And saw the grewsome sight. 

The rising tide with heave and swell, 

As if to hide the deed, 
Hoping no living lip would tell, 
No human eye would cast its spell, 

\\m\ drifted swift the weed. 

Across the clotted blue lines mark, 

A dead face all did slum. 
A-gleaming cold and white and stark, 
A-staring though it fain would hark 

To hear a clock strike one. 



THE DEATH OF THE SKIPPER. 63 

Some say the skipper gave the blarl 

And twitted Cal Ralfe sore, 
And beastly weighted his big heart 
And why Cal Ralfe plays such a part 

With all his mates on shore. 

Some say that Ely bet the drinks 

And Connell gave the cut, 
And that is why big Connell shrinks, 
And rouses up, then startled thinks, 

And keeps his big mouth shut. 



AN APRIL MORNING. 

The snows they are melted, 

rhe north winds are gone, 
Puss-willows are felted, 

The crocus is boi n. 
( ireen rushes are peeping 

Above ripples blue 
Arbutus 's steeping, 

Pink-cups filled with dew. 

The blackbirds are piping, 

The blue birds are seen 
The swallows arc skipping 

O'er carpets of green. 
Red robins, gay whistle, 

The cat birds shrill cry, 
O'er stalks of dead thistle 

'The \ ellowbirds fly. 

Far out o'er the hedges 
In robes, gray and white, 

By the seaweedy ledges, 
The sea-gulls delight ; 

Some pensively dreaming, 

While zephyrs soft blow, 
The sun spangles gleaming 

'Mid sprays white as snow . 

Far up on the hill rocks, 
rhe rooks, black as night, 

Are mocking the gray hawks, 
Awinging in sight, 
64 



AN APRIL MORNING 65 

I >ow 11 ej in", the gn en brakes, 

Where sluggishly glide 
The lithe water snakes 

To the brook's singing tide, 

Asniff goes a nuiski-.il, 

Then splash, he is gone. 
A frog- sings in B flat 

To a cricket forlorn ; 
A butterfly lances 

An iris hearl blue, 
Then gayly en! ranees 

A wild rose in view. 

'Neath arms of green larches 

Now lowing herds wend, 
While a barefoot boy marches 

Their wishes to lend. 
They hie to the cool pool, 

Embrowed by the hill, 
And draw from its depths, cool, 

I )eep draughts to o'erfill. 

They brush the Rhodoras 

In purple array, 
.And crush the sweet day-stars. 

Like fail its at play ; 
They tangle the tresses 

Of herd-grasses vain, 
Where the hill tiereid dresses 

Titania's train. 



66 AN APRIL MORNING. 

When Hesper assembles 

Her last beauties rare, 
And the night-star pale trembles 

'Mid glories more fair, 
Oh ! beautiful morning, 

Lov'd talisman, shine, 
That came fair adorning, 

Persephone's shrine. 



THE SEA GULLS. 

Over the ghostly topmast sail, 

Over the topmasts, gray and bare, 
Whirled by the winds, unseen, that wail, 

The white gulls fade in the evening air. 

O'er mountains gray of clouds they float, 

'Round turrets, lofty, yet unreal, 
By ghoulish forms, that sway and gloat 

Undaunted, do they silent steal. 

This lonely eve, I watch them float 

Far away, to some spirit world ; 
Each winging, like some fairy boat; 

Tacking, wind-tossed, storm-beaten, and hurled 

Close 'gainst a star, each milk-while breast ; 

Close 'gainst a moon, whose silver sphere 
In silence lights a world, shroud dressed, 

A world of imagery, strange and drear. 





.**» : 



TO THE ANNISQUAM RIVER. 

Bi u mi river, 'twixl sea and sea, 

I with thy magical imagery, 
Indian legended, wild bird haunted, 
By happy pleasure wrapt and vaunted. 
< irasp, -rasp, the girdle that waits for thee, 
W ove by the blithe wind's witchery ; 
Wind it about thy willowy form, 

r thy blue heart, deep and warm; 
1 hen, lovely river, go greet the sea, 
W aiting to love thine entirety. 

tul river, long, long ago, 
Who loved thy sweet beauty, listed thy flow? 
Ever where wild birds have sought thine embrace, 

Nature has mirrored it- orace, 
Ever where sunsets have sent their last gleam, 
Ever where night stars have sunk sweel to dream, 
Ever where pleasure, ever where joy 
Has ' .unboiled, since I was a boy; 

S ak, l.nely river, speeding thy flow, 
Blue Wonasquam oi the long a<*o. 

the blue river, the sea grasses splashino 
Like a chalice of joy upsparkling and flashing, 

lue heart from slumber, once wakened from sleep 
To the stern cry oi men. and the oars" measured sweep 
The clank oi the chain, and the dash of the lance. 
And o'er me dark hovered the banners o 



68 TO THE ANNISQUAM RIVER, 

I saw from the forests the savages hieing, 

The birds, high above me, were fluttering and crying, 

Ami shrilly commingling above their refrain, 

/ T ive /' Empereur ! I ive le Champlain ! 

'T was like the birth ol sorrow from sleep, 

The waking of griefs from agonies deep, 

The rending of something no mortal shall know, 

A mirage of loveliness fading to woe. 

1 saw the weird flames of the watch-fires dance. 

Uplift like vipers, and mirror their glance ; 

M\ white foams seemed hanging with pendants ol red 

Garnets, the life throbs a human heart shed ; 

And like a vision, afading from view, 

The children of nature that loved me so true. 

I sang to my ripples sweetest ol songs, 

Telling the night-wind in silence my wrongs; 
But ne'er hovered peace, for Right to atone, 
My children watched sterner, like statues of stone. 
Like a fury at morn, like a fury at night, 
Quihonamenec sped his canoes to the fight, 
Disturbing my slumbers, that Peace did oft seek, 
From my reefs by the sea to fair Wingaersheek ; 
Disturbing a slumber no more shall 1 know 
That hovered about me, long, long ago. 

Beautiful river, methinks I can see 

The visions divine that thou picture to me; 
The fair form of nature is slumbering in peace, 
The forests are waving their children at case, 
The sea-fowl are winging thy blue waves so free 
The hawks o'er the sea-grasses scurry in glee. 



TO THE .1 V.V/.m T./.i/ RIVER 

The black crows are i awing I i hemlock and pine 

The « rai kling of twigs as the camp fires shine, 
The wake of the dark chief, wimpling the foam, 
I lis heron plumes wa\ ing, as his bin h canoes roam. 

Beautiful river, ! see darkly fall 
A veil of oblivion ; I hear dimly call 
\ voice from thy blue hearl tenderly say, 
I )w,ll not ; forgel wli.ii for aye pa ied awaj . 
Then slowly I see from thy blue depths arise 
,\ tapei divine that illumines the si i 
A flash "I .i flame o'er thy blue silence drifts, 
While slowly the fair form of Progress uplifts, 
And points with its finger o'er hill, vale, and slope, 
For civilization to struggle and grope. 

I see up to heaven a banner uplift ; 

( >ver its fair folds, beautiful, drift 

The pale form ol I -iberty with Love divine, 

Above the white cross, that on it doth shine. 

I see stalwart men, I see women brave, 

I see silent gleam the first new-made -rave, 

l ei iti 11 lve, dark baffling despair, 

l i i hope refulgent gleam everywhere, 
I see toil and trouble, warfare, and peace, 

.And death stalking broad o'er land and o'er seas. 

Beautiful river, as round thee I gaze, 
Slowly night's purpling mantles upraise, 
Studded with gems, the dark forests they wrap, 
And throw the sweet silen< e of love in thy lap. 
I heir the sweet hells from the towel's low chime, 
I hear the stem surge of that motor ol time, 



7 o TO THE ANNISQUAM RIVER. 

Sternly recording on shore-waste and reef 
The will of a God; in sentences brief 
I hear Pleasure call, and sweet voices bright 
Ring o'er thy blue heart its merry good-night. 

Farewell, holy past, with thy dark seal of care, 
Farewell, silver stars, in thy jet vaulted air, 
Farewell, mighty sea, with thy whisperings deep, 
Dark forests, farewell, with joy woke from sleep 
Farewell, lovely vales, fair city lights shine 
Gleaming from adamant couches divine, 
Farewell, lovely river, farewell, sylvan day, 
May no billow of Lethe ever bear thee away; 
In memory's sweet pictures lovingly dwell 
A talisman beautiful, ever thy spell. 



THE HERRING TORCHERS. 

Like phantoms, they row across the bar 
Beyond the Lights, like ghosts asleep ; 

Each flaming torch, a ruby star, 
Illumining the ebon deep. 

Each measured stroke, each oar's low dip, 
Like eerie whisp'rings sounding clear, 

So light they toss, and sway, and tip, 

And thrid the lone wastes, dark and drear. 

O'er ev'ry bow, like death awake, 

You'll sec some pale face, wan and old, 

Bend low, as silver ripples break, 
And toss some finny gem of gold. 

Anon some quav'ring voice will call, 
And canny answers faint come back 

From gray-beards pulling in the trawl, 
Or dropping nets from fishing smack. 

As ev'ry ruby flame doth gleam 

And Hash athwart the night-veiled sea, 

You almost think, you almost dream, 
It is some mermen's revelry, 

Or bivouac fires of die weird 

Unhappy spirits of the seas, 
Above the white hones of the dead, 

Low wailing dull, sad litanies. 



TO THE WILLOWS OF RIVERDALE. 

Y i. sylvan votarists of ( rod, 

I >emeter's graceful children fair, 

Embow'ring o'er earth's tired sod 
A peace that ev'ry hearl may share, 

Ye lowly plaisance of the Spring, 

Where unseen with her charmed tread, 

Persephone doth holy bring 

First beauties to awake the dead, 

Ye witching graces, lovely robed 

To vie the river's glances blue, 
Sequestered bow'r where hearts are probed 

To give to one his dues most true, 

Ye sylvan welcomers, that fling 

Obeisance to the early year, 
E'er yet the sun-god's aural ring 

I las fully give the earth its cheer, 

How beautiful you greet my eye, 
Like holy nuns, in silent prayer, 

As 'round the old-road's bend I hie 

And greet thee, lovely, standing there. 

When moon-beams beckon, sprites and elves, 

And merry Oberon unseen, 
With fairies gay bedeck themselves 

For magic revels 'mid thy green, 

72 



TO THE WILLOWS OF RTVERDALE, jt, 

\ ml nymphs swecl call, fi vale and glen, 

To zephyrs sleepy love note < low, 
And ev'i y leal has elfin men 

Astride it, swaying to and fro, 

In rap! me down thy < > ilonnade, 
Like sylvan senl inel - to night, 
In pensive thoughl I 've slowly strayed 

And seen sneli visions lo delight. 

' Caliban with grew some form 

Would be the gaunl limb swaying near, 

Or Hecate I rom hell-broths w; 

Would be the black bat's shi ill cry < lear. 

Men m! io, with taunting cry, 

Would .in iwei gay I lenvolio's plea, 
While swi 1 1 v< »ung Romeo would hie 

And leap the orchard wall in glee. 

1 'd hear the l.ii tice casements ope, 

Fair Juliet's rare vision gleam, 
I 'd hear the lovers I rust and hope, 

And marl-: how sad i an be love's dream. 

( )r hear the i ogue A utolycus sing, 

The i usl ic swains in men v dam e 
And see Perdita happy fling 

To proud < aillillo her swecl 'dam I . 

Or Loving gleam sweet Arden lair, 

With Rosalind divine, 
In all her witching debonaii 

To steal this heai t ol mine. 



74 TO THE WILLOWS OF RIVERDALE. 

Or like a bird, o'er bough and leaf, 

The voice of Amiens ring, 
Until some sweet day, all too brief, 

Its tired glance would fling, 

Ah, lovely bow i, where rich and poor 

Do greet thee through each changeful year. 

Above whose crowns the blue clouds scar, 
And nights fair jewels I winkle clear. 

Fair willows, 'neath whose arching screen, 
Each happy summer brings content, 

Until brown Pan is merry seen 
On ev'ry russet bough, low bent. 

Fair graces, that to each is giv'n 
An holy tryst for one to keep, 

In thy fond presence Truth is riv'n, 
And Love awakes my soul from sleep. 



I 

IB 



^ 




... 



A WINTER'S DAY AT RAFE'S CHASM. 

Lik, droves of bellowing leviathans the green waves rolled; 

Like ., wrangling ol age the white foams hissed, 
< )', r halls "I snow < arrara gold on gold, 

Beautiful the winter's sun sloped pendants kissel. 
You '.1 surely dreamed the gods had come again, 

Or sad Atlantis, tired "I Its sleep, 
Prom stern subjections surged the maddened main, 

And foi upremai v writhed the frenzied deep. 

( >,- cin e fieri e, with troops of witches grim 

p rorn hellish revels in the nether world, 
I ).iik Pluto's regions, stern and dim, 

'Sued by the Fate - in hi, Icons terrors whirled ; 
( > r W an despairs, 'mid th gs ol wailing griefs, 

In restless agitations to and fro, 
Moaning and sighing 'mid the spray-dren< hed reels, 

Wailed unto Death theii myriad tales ol wee. 



Roll ol the thunders, surge oi battles, i avalry i harging 

Rattle "I infantry, huzzas, moans ol the dying; 
Grander, fiercer the storm, the wastes of seas enlarging; 

Now like a million maddened I motives flying; 

Now like the roll <>i a million mighty organs playing, 

Like fierce maji tic preludes, unto masses grim ol death, 
Swelled the voice ol the storm, and wrapl in wonder, delaying 

In awe beheld il cry the majesty ol Him who gave mi 
breath. 



THE RIVALS. 

Three days, three nights, through the mists they rowed ; 

And the sun, unseen, rose up, sank down. 
One thought of a pledge ; and life-blood glowed, 

One thought of his death: to starve or drown. 
And he, who love's pledge did sacred keep 

In sorrow's anguish, cried, " God may I," 
As welling tears in his brave eyes leap, 

" Have strength and courage to bravely die ! " 

The fourth sun rose, and unseen it set ; 

And he who feared death looked strange and pale ; 
No cooling draught had his parched lips met, 

As he rowed and watched for passing sail. 
He looked at his mate, that sent the cry, 

Like a beast ; he watched the blood flow red, 
And tinge his cheek, and bright flame his eye, 

And leering unto his mate, he said : — ■ 

" What Devil, when death has marked us both, 

Can keep the blood in thy cheeks so bright ? 
The woman you love, pledged me an oath. 

E'er we sailed as mates that cursed night. 
E'er we rowed together out to the trawls, 

I gave the skipper a knowing wink." 
Thicker the white mist around them falls; 

Down, deeper down, in the swells they sink. 

" I gave the skipper a knowing wink. 

He knew us two loved the self-same girl ; 
Though little the better of me, I think, 

For she gave to me this golden curl. 
76 



THE RIVALS. 77 

Little the better of me, I think, 

For she gave this trink't to play my part, 

If ever down in the deep I sink, 

To let me know how she held your heart. 

" Little the better of me, messmate ; 

For she told me, never, she would be yours." 
The bright checks fade, while a fiend of hate 

Has lifted one of the dripping oars. 
■< Well, in my plight, that you tell this truth; 

Well, in my plight, that revenge is mine, 
For never one of our arms, forsooth, 

Shall ever her treach'rous form entwine. 

"You never would hold that curl of gold; 
You never would hold that trinket fine; 
You never in spite of death, so cold, 

Could ever have blanched my hopes, divine. 
If all you tell wa'n't a secret deep, 

Your treacherous lives have kept from me, 
May tortures of hell her conscience reap, 

Wherever on earth, her spirit be." 
A crash! and the oar, uplifted, falls; 

Two mad men clutch, and two dead men reel. 
Unseen, through the mists, an osprey calls, 
As an hav'n she makes of the upturned keel. 



AT PATCH WILLOWS. 

I )EI I MBER, 1887. 

Ye grand old willows, waving lone, 

What true companionship thou 't known ; 

What friendships fond, endearing bird 

And man to lisp Truth's sacred word; 

What fragrance from these meadows bare, 

Have stole from unmown grasses where 

The violet and morning dew 

Have flooded gorgeous urns of blue, 

And bade ye waft upon the air 

Sweet odors that they scented there; 

\\ hat merry songs ere blithesome Spring 

Had ceased her virgin wandering, 

And happy birds had settled down 

In deftly woven homes of brown, 

Deep hid amid thy leafy wold, 

Has echoed through thy branches old. 

What wand 'ring winds, what breezes sweet 

Have bade thee cool the wand'rer's feet, 

Fond resting by yon meadow wall 

Where Nereids bid the streamlets fall ; 

Or hearts that held the strongest vow 

That ever heaven didst allow 

Man's plighted word, to shield from harm 

The fragile form within his arm ; 

Perhaps beneath thy spreading shade 

Their plighted vows were sacred made; 

Or now an unknown sundered twain 

Come back to find lost joys again. 

7S 



AT PATCH WILLOWS. 79 

Ye willows old, yon restless sea 
Can only speak my thoughts for thee. 
These walls decayed, these barren fields 
Are but the proofs of what Time yields. 
This desolation all around, 
Voiceless of nature's sweetest sound, 
This loneliness where all I hear, 
But griefs of winter, wailing drear, 
Is but the summer's changed refrain, 
Coming in beauty soon again, 
Telling her longings on the wind, 
And bidding ye in secret bind 
The sweet surprises in her store, 
Rare gifts from Flora's scented door, 
To wake fair Dreamland fast asleep, 
And joy, her murm'ring lutes to leap. 
I love ye, willows, gnarled and old, 
For oh, what dreams, what fancies hold 
Me bound to thee ! What happy days, 
When peering through thy leafy haze, 
The ocean would appear to me 
The mirror of eternity ! 
At ros'ate morn or mellow noons, 
'Neath tender lights of early moons, 
At quiet eve or starlit calms, 
Till all would sleep within his arms; 
The sea and sky to gleam as one, 
As God the Father, Christ the Son. 
A tired gipsy have I strayed, 
So loth to leave thy cooling shade, 
With satyrs' kisses on my lip, 
From berry-picking o'er the Slip. 
And holding, in my sunburnt hands, 
Pale offsprings of far Afric's lands, 



So AT PATCH WILLOWS. 

I ruthless woke from dreamy sleep 

White lilies, where the troclis sweep; 

Or with some chosen school-boy friend, 

Adown thy bending arch I 'd wend 

Along the roadway to the gate, 

Across the sands in joy elate ; 

Peep in the barns, where flutt'ring sounds 

Betrayed the fledgling swallow's bounds ; 

Pass by the graceful gileads tall, 

Where orioles in splendor call ; 

On through the stretching fields of green, 

Crown-capped, with many a splendid scene, 

Where lights and shadows sweetly made 

A picture that a king might prayed 

To rich adorn his palace hall, 

Put far beyond his royal call; 

.And yet, perhaps, what seen by me, 

To him would be but ribaldry; 

For every heart is not akin, 

And what I love to some is sin. 

To let the weightier burdens go, 

And dream amid the golden glow, 

The fields, and hills, to so enhance, 

That beauties came at ev'ry glance, 

To wrap me in a dreamland world, 

Where care's grim sails joy tightly furled; 

For ne'er a summer ever came, 

But what my soul did sound her name, 

And with her joyous train I 'd go, 

To find his truths she 'd wish to show. 

Ye willows old, that regal stand, 

Proud remnants of a stalwart band, 

Athwart green fields, I often went 

Where golden shields a welcome sent; 



J T PA TCH WILLOWS. 81 

Athwart wild roses' coral hips, 

The yellow ox-eyed daisies' tips, 

That gleamed refulgent in the sun 

As if a conqueror's wars were done, 

And, tired of the battle field, 

Each warrior'd hung his blazoned shirk! ; 

The trembling poplars, silver-leafed, 

The hazels that so cooling wreathed 

The crystal streams, that flooded o'er 

And drenched the robes the mosses wore. 

What pictures grand I 've painted there! 

No tinge of sorrow, no despair 

Would mar the glories I would paint, 

That freely came without restraint. 

With stately form, and tawny neck, 

In birch canoe, Ouionhamenec 

From the blue Wonasquam I 'd see, 

And his warriors, wild and free, 

And, as they reached thy rocky strand, 

Would wander, where yon remnant band 

Of hardy oak, and sodden beech, 

Their knotty, sinewy arms, outreach 

To relish change, and from the chase 

To quench their thirst with birchen vase. 

From out the rippling crystal stream 

That now to-day with lucid gleam 

Still ripples o'er the mossy plush, 

The haunt of blackbird and of thrush ; 

And as I 'd wander where the land 

Doth meet the ocean's broad expand, 

Astretchi ng far as eye can see, 

What pent-up thoughts would wake in me. 

The rising sun, the falling tide 

Would alway woo some lovely bride, 



82 AT PATCH Mil LOWS. 

Some dreamy sea-gull robed in white, 
Some shattered spray of coral dight; 
Sea-mosses, with the roses' hue 
( )n slabs ol onyx, fair to \ iew, 
The gifts of sea-nymphs' busy loom, 
From out the ocean's hidden tomb, 
And, wrapped in kelpen caskets gold, 
Have oft some ocean message told. 
Ye willows old, to-day by thee 
Mv si ml awakes fond memory; 
I hear my boyhood's sweet refrain. 
Past scenes, past pictures come again. 
Around I gaze with fond delight, 
Athrough thy barren branches blight 
On changed scenes, yet still left there 
A beauty, ahl most wondrous fair; 
And as thy swaying branches bend, 
And softest farewells dreamy send, 
May 1 in life's declining glow, 
If spared till then through life to go, 
May 1 review with pleasure still 
Each golden dream my heart did till, 
Each golden dream mv heart did know- 
To sweet console life's after-glow. 



THE BEL1 . THE WIIISTl E, AND THE BUOY. 

Win 1 1 fogs are drifting o'er the land, 

The sea's convulsed with woe and gloom, 
And where the twin lights, veiled, do stand, 

I weirdly hear the whistle's boom. 
li seems to say, I — can't — hear — you I 

Then faint 1 hear, Whool whoo! whool whool 
Y ()ll — y,,,,, he's here, lie's here, toll — toll; 

Where great waves heave, the fog-bells roll. 

Whistle : 

A dead gull 's bleeding at my basel 

1 |,r wing is broke ! her bill is benl ! 
She swept athwart my iron face, 

Then through the gloom I hear low sent. 

Buoy : 

,\ petrel 's < lutching to my hum, 

H er little heart beats brave and warm,— 
Whool whool be firm, like her, be true, 
Whoo I whool and strive to dol to dol 

Wl I ISTl.l : 

A craft has swept by me, all while! 

With crew benumbed and pale and cold ! 

I saw the blood-red lantern's lighl ! 

I saw the green on riggings old. 



Then both brave chime, a pale, white crew, 
Then there 's enough for all to do ! 

( >ne sends his i heer, Whool whool whool wl 
The others seem to say, Be true ! 
83 



84 THE BELL, THE WHISTLE, AND THE BUOY. 

Whistle ! 

Two fishers sleep beneath the kelp! 

In eyes of one a frozen tear! 
I sent my voice to give them help, 

But death has claimed them, soundeth drear ! 
But I was firm! and brave! and true! 

The pledge I vowed I tried to do ! 
The fog bell tolls, I '11 vouch for you — 

We all are firm — we all are true. 



Bei.i. 



The keeper old is tired out; 

A through the gloom he oft doth peer 
To stay the cold fog's ghostly route, 

Three days, three nights, he 's sent my cheer, 
But if we save one soul, why true. 

What oft a mortal cannot do; 
I am content to strive, are n't you? 

Then brave all chimes, Whoo ! whoo! whoo! whoo! 



THE SLIP. 

A pathway beautiful, that 's all ; 
A wild white reef, a crumbling wall, 
Where withered age, gray bars let fall, 
And thousand song-birds welcome call. 

'T is but a path, yet there I ween 
Thou 'It view the sweetest pictures seen, 
Thy very soul with joy wilt teem, 
Thine every thought a sylvan dream. 

Soft crooning where the rushes bend, 
A whispered welcome zephyrs send, 
And where the fringing mazes wend, 
Bewild'ring aisles of colors blend. 

There willow branches interlace 
And wreathe a mere's sweet placid face; 
And as thou gaze, thine eye may trace 
Each sweeping ripple's gentle grace. 

Like wee strange argosies of old, 
Float lily barges of glitt'ring gold, 
Safe manned by valiant elf-men bold, 
When silver stars night vigils hold. 

Like some grand monumental pyre, 
Enrobed in proud and regal tire, 
Fit for a god's ambrosial fire, 
Or Druid's chant, or siren's lyre, 

8s 



86 THE SLIP. 

The mighty Brace Rock stands supreme, 
Encircled by the ocean's gleam, 
Where seems the dome of heav'n to lean, 
Veiled in a mist of ros'ate sheen. 

Lie in the glist'ning sands, sea-worn, 
Gems that the seething swells have borne 
Beautiful mosses, ruthless torn 
From sunken reefs, by winds upshorn. 

No hand of man has yet defiled 
The stretching halls, so grandly tiled; 
The sun-kissed artist days have wiled 
To but portray, and nature 's smiled. 

Here sea, and earth, and heaven blend, 
And all their charms in rapture lend ; 
Here morn, her first sweet kisses send, 
And Hesper lingers, loath to wend. 

A trysting-place, it seems to me, 
Where song-birds, and the birds of sea, 
The waves, the hills, and nature free, 
For ages, held fond secrecy. 



EVENING AT WINGAERSHEEK BEACH. 

< > KK lone .Atlantis mystic sleep, 

I watch fair Hesper sending, 
Fond missives of her love to keep 

To Dian sweetly wending ; 
I watch the white foam roses wreathe 

Her kirtle's silver splendor 
And hear the mighty ocean breathe 

Its soul to its defender. 

The vigils of the heav'nly halls 

Their twinkling tapers light, 
Earth's pensive soul to silence calls 

And bids her fond good-night. 
The chalices of lilies close 

The saintly form of rest 
And o'er the fragrance of the rose 

Cod's minstrels voice him blest. 

Hack to their signal towers 

The dusky crowen wing 
To wait the roseate hours 

That Hellios shall bring 
bike bits of night, strange pinioned 

Hy stern decrees of Fate 
From purity beminioned, 

They brood the hour late. 

Out in the white foam roses 

A sleep)' sea-gull drifts, 
A moment dreamy dozes, 

Then pensively it lifts 

*7 



EVENING AT WINGAERSHEEK BEACH. 

Its graceful head a moment 
To the twin moon s-ailing low 

'Neath the roseate phosphors blent 
In the sweet day's after-glow. 

Adown thy plaisance beautiful 

Oh shimmering sands I wend 
To sacred impulse dutiful, 

My soul thy praises send ; 
The holy kiss a Past once gave 

Lies saintly o'er thy brow, 
Though idle now the clanking glave 

And cold the dusky brow. 

For regal lift, thy altars yet 

Aurora ne'er has shunned 
Or yet the eye of God e'er set 

But kissed thee sweet and fond. 
Time's primal vows thy sylvan vales 

Seem holier to keep 
As though the burthen of its tales 

Slept in their woodlands deep. 

Oh, sacred sands that dusky feet 

In joy once happy pressed! 
Oh, silver sands where sea-birds fleet 

Did love to brood and nest ! 
Oh, lovely border land of waves 

Where dusky cheeks did glow 
To passioned whispers of the braves 

Of a long, long ago. 

How beautiful the tryst you keep 

Of one sweet sacred hour 
When out of Chaos' sullen sleep, 

Love gave to thee its pow'r. 



EVENING AT WINGAEKSHEEK BEACH. 89 

How beautiful the tryst you keep 

Of one sweet sacred hour 
When out of Chaos' silent sleep 

Fair beauty gave her dow'r. 

How beautiful thou interchange 

The soul of one divine 
Where'er I go, where'er I range, 

Unto the soul of mine 
To bid in joy my heart to seek 

Fair glories o'er thee cast 
As thou pensive dream, fair Wingaersheek, 

Of thy unforgott'n Past. 



THE BURIAL AT SEA. 

Like the surge of a mighty forest 

No man has ever trod, 
The rattlings ring, the shrouds grim sing, 

The wind-beat pennons nod. 
The night clouds 'bove each topmast height 

Like dark-stoled demons speed ; 
The waves uplift, like faces white, 

Concealing some dark deed. 

With emerald signals blazing, 

And garnet signals red, 
Like droves of grim beasts grazing 

Upon the ocean's bed, 
The fisher-fleets lay huddled, 

With cables making moan, 
O'er gear and ropes all muddled, 

The sad crews work alone. 

By a cuddy's fire blazing, 

A group of fishers stand 
And watch stern Death slow glazing 

Eyes turned toward heaven's strand. 
They hear the winds go wailing 

Athrough the starless waste, 
And watch the black clouds sailing 

Like life-boats in their haste. 

At anchor, comrades are we ? 

How wild the winds do blow! 
Just hear the angels calling; see! 

How fair their white wingfs show! 



THE BURIAL AT SEA. 9 1 

I 'in tired, tired sailing, 

I long to go to sleep; 
And two eyelids, by death paling, 

Fall fringed with lashes deep. 

By a cuddy's fire blazing, 

A group of fishers stand, 
Like gentle women, raising 

A form with nerveless hand. 
O'er a rough bunk lowly bending 

They bow each care-worn face, 
While a comrade low is sending 

To heaven this strange grace. 

" O, father, in this awful night, 

Alone upon the deep, 
Surrender we all earthly right 

To fim there fast asleep. 
We 'd rather had him die at home, 

With loved ones sweet to cheer. 
And buried where the song-birds roam, 

Than in the deep so drear. 

" O, father, Jim could never bluff 

Like us the trawl and oar, 
His place should been far from the rough, 

Right him on heaven's shore. 
Was pretty good at tender words, 

As gentle as a lamb, 
His voice was like the song of birds, 

He loathed all outward sham. 

" Now, father, give us strength to drop 
Poor Jim down in the deep, 
And, father, when his heart did stop 
You 're sure his soul you keep. 



THE BURIAL AT SEA. 

You loved the fishers long ago, 

You calmed a stormy deep, 
Then give to us a little show, 

And right Jim fast asleep. 

And, father, every bit that Jim 

Did earn in this dark trip 
We 11 give to her as if from him, 

\ lis wife, a wee girl slip. 
We'll tell her how he happy died 

Ami heard sweet angels sing. 
And how he faced with such brave pride 

The unseen death can bring." 

Like the surge of a mighty forest 

Nil man has ever trod, 
The rattlings ring, the shrouds grim sing, 

The wind-beat pennons nod. 
The night clouds 'bove each topmast height. 

Like dark-stolcd demons speed ; 
The waves uplift, like faces white, 

Concealing some dark deed. 

'Neath emerald signals blazing, 

And garnet signals bright, 
Sad fishermen are raising 

A canvas coffin white. 
Up through the sea-drenched gangway, 

Across the sea-drenched deck 
To where the wild waves swirl and play, 

And seem the dead to beck. 

Beside the trembling rattlings, 

'Mid trawl and tangled gear, 
Tossed by the wind that wails and sings, 

They lift their messmate dear. 



AT BASS ROCKS. 93 

1 >ver the foam-tossed railing 

They lift the canvas light, 
With a fisher's face out-paling, 

The foam-decked bilious white. 

Down in the green gulf's yawning 

Like hideous cradles deep, 
With the birth of an heavenly morning 

Sweet pictured in his sleep, 
Down through the white foams wreathing 

Crowns on his tired head, 
'Mid seething phosphors breathing. 

They give to God the dead. 



AT BASS ROCKS. 

Uplift, ye dauntless sentinels, 

Ye conquerors of eld, 
That prone from out the restless deep 

Each white wrath wave hath felled. 
Uplift, ye time-scarred bastions, 

Above the watch they keep, 
Above whose brows unnumbered suns 

Have ris'n and sunk to sleep. 

Uplift, ye speechless glories 

Of a forgotten past, 
With Time's immortal stories 

Engraven on thee vast 



9* AT BASS ROCKS. 

Uplift, that clear my searching soul 

May read above thy brow 
The power of One's glory whole 

In awe, beholden now. 

Like hoary age, in winter weird, 

With foam, froze locks of white, 
I 've watched thee shield the wild sea-bird, 

Benumbed in storm-spent flight. 
Like matrons sweet, in summer's time, 

Up from the sparkling blue, 
I 've heard the wavelets gentle chime 

One's praises sweet to you. 

At night, when heaven's vault divine 

Is studded with the stars, 
And I have watched the moon-beams line 

The deep, with silver bars, 
I 've watched thee, standing, stern and bold, 

In silence 'mid the gloom, 
Like mighty Titans of old, 

Awaiting some grim doom. 

When sad the charms of summer's spell 

Lay dead on blade and leaf, 
And cold the rains of autumn fell, 

Like Niobes bowed in grief, 
I 've watched the white mists silent lift 

And ope their phantom arms, 
And o'er the moaning billows drift, 

And shield thee from alarms. 

I 've gazed in rapturous wonder, 
When morn, with sweet delight, 

Hath bright wreathed thy brows with splendoi 
In day's sweet fading light. 



AT BASS ROCKS. 

Oft when day, in glories dying, 

Refulgent, lit the West, 
I have seen sweet Hesper tying 

Rich corslets on thy breast. 

Like kings amid the wrath of storms, 

I Ye watched, in awe sublime, 
Thee, fearless, bare thy giant forms 

Against the scourge of Time ; 
And heard the winds in terror flee, 

The swells' fierce passions calm, 
As noble 'bove the seething sea, 

You taught me life's great psalm. 

Oh, mighty cliffs, if Time could speak 

The warfare of the years, 
How human hearts, that vainly seek, 

Would list with eyes of tears; 
How sluggish channels of the blood, 

That dormant flowed in gloom, 
Would start to life Hope's joyous flood, 

And wake the heart's dulled tomb. 

Then lift, ye wonders of a God, 

That man on thee may read 
That though the flesh enrich the sod, 

The deathless soul shall speed 
To One who raised to mortal sight 

Such glories wond'rous wrought, 
Who gave to chaos deathless light, 

And Life upraised from nought. 



95 



THE FISHERMEN. 

The great waves rocked them to and fro, 
The mad winds tossed their locks of snow, 
And wailing in their ears, cried, Woe ! 
Woe ! woe ! ahead, pale fishermen. 

Woe! woe! woe! woe! whither thou row! 
The night grows dark, cold falls the snow ; 
The reefs are bare, no farther go ! 

Turn back, ye pale white fishermen. 

Woe ! woe ! woe ! woe ! creak. Creak, creak, 

creak, 
The oars reply, to winds that speak. 
They bid us on, their cobbles leak. 

Stay! stay! these mad pale fishermen. 

No stars came out; the fierce winds blew 
Like ghosts of birds; the salt sprays flew 
And phosphors hissed, as their bows went through : 
Still fearless rowed the fishermen. 

They found one face in sea-weeds white, 
Two faces dead 'neath the beacon light, 
One form froz'n stiff 'neath the Brace Cliffs height 
And four crones mourned the fishermen. 

Above the sea they made their bed ; 
A stake they placed at foot and head, 
And on the stake these words I read, 
An old crone traced with gulls' blood red: 
" Here sleepeth four pale fishermen." 
./. 



MY HEROES. 

The night signals dagger the ocean dark, 

With quivering thrusts at the swells that flow; 
They wound the white foams with a telling mark, 



The wind to its storm-sprites whistles and whines, 
They scream to their goblins, promise of fun, 

A frightened moon hides a lone star that shines, 

While o'er them stream storm-cloud groups one by on. 

Like Death commanding bright souls to the grave, 
Filing in, filing in, to dirges of the wind, 

Half pitying a moment, sad boons they crave ; 

The dark anchors strain, the wet hawsers they bind. 

Wild, in the whirl of the night-tortured air, 

Like thrusting of swords in wounds that are burning, 

Or wild beasts of prey fierce seeking their lair, 

You hear the bagged topsails twisting and churning. 

With tippets of foam, the bowsprits are muffled, 
Like brides of betroth'l, the creaking sails lean, 

Like beautiful veils, all spangled and ruffled, 

The cold sprays trail o'er the rails damp and green. 

But one man at that wheel ! God, what pluck! 

Was e'er a battle with hero like this ? 
One 's giv'n God's light till the heart is o'erstruck 

E'er Death on one's forehead lays cold its last kiss 

97 



5 THE IRON CROSS AT MAGNOLIA. 

In war. But when one pair of cold hands, 
Two eyes, and a body that 's not over strong, 

Backed up, may-hap, with a frail little hand, 
But a speck, to a war crowd's wild throng, 

On a sea, in a night that is crazed 

With the torture and passion of storms, 

On an old fishing craft that is dazed, — 

They're my heroes, and my soul for them warms. 



THE IRON CROSS AT MAGNOLIA. 

In the calm eve, still I listen, 
Hear the sweet birds softly call, 

Watch the full moon, silver, glisten 
'Bove the dark pines, grim ami tall. 

Watch its fretted net of wonder, 
Like an heav'nly rad'anre bright, 

Far beyond my thoughts to ponder, 
Veil the beauties of the night. 

O'er the ocean streams its glory, 
O'er the white hones of the dead, 

O'er an iron cross, whose story 
All the human passions wed. 



THE IRON CROSS AT MAGNOLIA. 99 

Youth and joy and merry gladness 

Blendclh in its lonely gloom, 
Grief and death and sorrow's sadness, 

Like the hollow ocean's tomb. 

'Neath the dark pines, like some spectre, 

Weird and lone, it looks to me, 
While the pale moon, soft and tender, 

Points it downward in the sea. 

And I see a white face swaying 

In the sea swells, to and fro, 
Watch blue lips to God sad praying 
That her hold may firmer grow. 

Sec a white arm clutched in terror, 

To the sea-weed tresses gold, 
See misfortune's fatal error, 

See a white corpse pale and cold. 

Up, up o'er the gray cliffs olden, 

Watch a throng in sadness go; 
O'er their burden sea-weeds golden 

That Death clutched from chasms low, 

'Neath the dark pines slow there wending, 

From my sight they fade away; 
All, one summer day's sad ending, 

Life in grief, life, death's cold clay. 



THE FIRST SNOWDROP. 

Fluttering floats from the gray cloud's gown 
A tiny bit of blood-stained down, 
While a bird with quavering cries I see, 
Slower, more slower, wing over the lea. 

A tiny bit of blood-stained down 
From a beautiful mottled feathered gown, 
A bit of down from a well-plumed breast, 
A bit of down where its heart might rest. 

I know not whether the land or sea 
Gave the joyousness to the birds bright glee, 
But I know the blood on the down was hot, 
And I know in the blue of heaven he fought, 

And baffled with life, and moaned and cried, 
Till lower to earth he fluttered and died. 
And I hurried my steps and sought the place, 
And a snowdrop lay on its feathered face, 

As if sweet Spring had heard its cry, 

Aloft in the zephyrs, soft sweeping by, 

And sadly stole to the blossoming earth, 

And plucked from the flowers her sweetest birth. 

And placed on the blood-drenched breast of down 
A snowdrop fair, in its plumaged gown, 
As if to console for its spirit fled, 
To moan for its song, to silence wed. 



TO A CUCKOO. 

Thy grief, O bird, what shadows throw 
Around thy heart their veils of woe? 

From aspens lone thy weird note bounded, 
Hollow, unreal, its echo sounded. 

The day is fair, the sweet sunshine 
Alike for thee ; O bird, why pine 

Amid the thicket's lonely gloom, 
And blend 'mid joy a note of doom ? 

The sunlit slope, yon lovely down, 
Is like thy russet coat of brown ; 

Thy tapering wings and golden beak, 
Thy slender form a grace bespeak. 

No happy bird would build its nest, 
No happy bird would seek its rest, 

Where blossoms die, and dank leaf-mould 
Chill ev'ry gleam of sunshine gold. 

The griefs thou nurture, the unrest 
That dwell within thy mottled breast, 

Veil all the sunshine from the day, 
And Melancholy wields its sway. 



AT PIGEON COVE. 

Like some great soul in thought, the gray sea gleams, 

'Neath radiant spanglings of a sun, 
A ship becalms, a tired sea-bird dreams, 
And day is done. 

From frag'nt moors I breathe the early night wind's breath, 

A great gray hawk, a stag'ring buccaneer, 
Wings to the silent marsh, while glooms like death 
Tell night draws near. 

Each fading leaf, like shattered harps untuned, 

Each little blade with glist'ning dews begemmed, 
Seem ringing out sad notes by night fays runed, 
In osiers hemmed. 

A flock of aimless swallows tangling wing, 

As though they fain would tie the air in knots, 
Gray linnets for a moment madly sing 
'Mid aster plots. 

A locust claps its res'nant wings, and hies 

Adown the long gray hill path's twisting line, 
A star comes out, and gems the still night skies 
Like some sweet sign. 

A startled thrush, my footfall hasty bids 
To give alarms to quiet brakens still, 
Where crickets chirp, and tiny katy-dids 
Do trysts fulfil. 




f 



THE BLUETS. 103 

And love is here, one great, great love that Time, 

In all its mighty changings, ne'er can change, 
One great, great love, that ceaseless voices chime, 
Where'er you range. 

' T is morn of night, when life to ev'ry thing would rest, 

And lazy Porphyrus from his couch awakes, 
The holy time when all things God's attest, 
The soul it makes. 



THE BLUETS. 

In mosses green 
A charming scene, 

To me a sweet surprise, 
In bright array 
This fair spring day 

The bluets greet my eyes. 

Each dainty cup 

Is lifted up 
With tints of heaven's hue; 

Each budding gem 

A diadem 
Bespangled with the dew. 



«o4 THE BLUETS. 

Like tiny shields 

Amid the fields, 
On bodies, slim and frail, 

They wave and bend 

And sweetly send 
The welcome Spring's All hail ! 

Where bright sunshine 

By one divine 
Can reach each fragile heart, 

They lovely gleam 

Like some sweet dream 
And Joy's sweet pulses start. 

My better self 

(The heart's stored wealth) 
Enraptured at the sight, 

On each sweet face 

Sees Heaven's grace 
And life, immortal, bright. 

Oh, tiny blooms, 
When waking tombs 

Lie buried 'neath the snow, 
And Death doth keep 
Guard o'er thy sleep 

And blust'ring winds they blow, 

Backward apace 
My heart will trace, 

And bring, begemmed with dew, 
'Mid mosses green 
The charming scene 

Of you, sweet buds of blue. 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 

When daisies sway, 

And lilies bend 
And sunbeams play, 
I love to wend 
And watch a little vaulter climb 
Trapezes, deftly hung by Time. 

In palest green, 

He 's neatly dressed, 

To match gay seen 

A lemon vest, 

With hose of richest amber tint, 

He rests supreme on thistles' lint. 

When arid gleams 

The sun-tanned slope, 
And parched streams 
Do sluggish grope, 
I love to see him deftly strive 
To keep his little self alive. 

How oft, have I 

In boyhood's prime, 
When youth did hie 
Joy's halcyon time, 
Swift stole from bliss a moment's rapture, 
The little vaulter strove to capture. 



106 THE GRASSHOPPER. 

To start alert 

To fragranl disks 
Of thoroughwort 
With many risks 
Of bramble cuts and brook-soaked feet 
To grasp him from rich nectars sweet ; 

And rouse the gleam 

( >l silent wings, 
.\ magic dream 
Of flutterings, 
The butterflies o'erdrunk with dew, 
In raiments only rainbows knew; 

And peering find 

Some warbler's home, 
\\ ith horse-hair lined, 

'Neath floral dome 
Of white-thorn petals, white as snow, 
The breaths of June had yet to blow; 

And hear the croak 

Of turtles deep, 
Whose rest I d broke 
From miry sleep, 
And mark how fair God's image shone 
On every thing my heart would own. 

Until the purpling fires of eve 
Their flaming signals faint would leave 
To bid Bob White to sweetly call, 
Ami bitl night's dusky curtains fall. 



THE GRASSHOPPER. 107 

Ah, little one ! to sing of thee 

Mayhap has frowned fair poesy, 

But thou, divinest Goddess fair, 

Who welcomes thought from everywhere, 

Oh, see in these rough words of mine 
A love for thee, more holier shine ; 
A love divine, I humble bring 
From Nature's shrine as offering. 



THE FIELD MICE. 

Oh, what racing, 

Oh, what chasing, 
Through those crisp leaves, sear and brown ! 

When the sun's face 

Wove the frost's lace, 
On the thistles' withered crown. 

Oh, what whisking, 

Oh, what frisking, 
As they hied to each domain ! 

When the wind grieved, 

And the snow weaved 
Phantom glories o'er the plain. 

Oh, what bustling, 
Oh, what hustling, 
As they garnered wintry store. 
Peeping this way, 
Peeping that way, 
From each tiny, grass-draped door. 

Oh, what cuddling, 

Oh, what huddling, 
In each wee home shut from sight. 

As the snow failed, 

And the blasts called 
Grim defiance to the night ! 



THE FIELD MICE. 109 

Oh, what pleasure, 

That my leisure, 
In this Autumn day's decline, 

Brings that sweet year, 

And those days clear, 
And those merry revels fine ! 

To remember 

That November, 
And those fond fled days of old, 

Childhood's fancies, 

Necromancies, 
When the field-mice to me told ! 

There was given, 

Once from heaven, 
Instinct to each living mite, 

By those gambols 

Through those tangles, 
When first fell that winter night. 

Are they sleeping, 

Watching, keeping 
Records as the days do go ? 

For the Spring-time, 

When the birds chime, 
Or when dead leaves mound the snow? 

Are they dreaming, 

Fancies teeming, 
Of the day they gave me joy? 

When free roaming, 

Through the gloaming 
Home I came, that happy boy ? 



A DAY WITH SHAKESPEARE AT THE SINGING 
SANDS. 

ROMEO AND JULIET. 
From hate eternal love immortal sprang, 
And lit two hearts that Fate so grim allied, 
That in Love's flame they suffered, grieved, and died. 
From hate eternal seraphs sweeter sang, 
From hate eternal heaven's blue portals rang, 
How love can conquer hate and silence pride. 

How Death can silence hate and grimly chide, 

And leave in Life an ever-aching pang. 
These thoughts they come to me who fain would bring 

The days of long ago, when love was set 
By Fate in such a tangled thread of woe, 

That Death was welcomed to sad suffering, 
The memory of the lovely Juliet, 

The memory of the sad, sad Romeo. 

TO TOBY BELCH, IN "TWELFTH NIGHT." 

Toby, ev'ry day I see, in Life's great mart, 
Thyself's portray '1. Ever proving unto me 
In one's great planning, mirth, and deviltry, 

To our fashioning played no small a part 

To unknown consummations of an art 

We live in hope some day to solve and see 
When o'er life's bourne, the tired soul wings free, 

And languid heart throbs fail to beat or start. 

Toby, for all thy rudeness there is love 
For thee within my kindly heart's repose, 

That gives compassion to such ones as thou 
Who veil their better selves where'er they rove, 
And e'er their groggy senses sleepy doze, 

Unconscious drop the pearl to God somehow. 



A DA)' WITH SHAKESPEARE. 



TO OLIVIA IN "TWELFTH NIGHT." 

I laugh a merry laugh, Olivia, and bid its effervescing 

sprites to speed 
To 1 [ymen. Thou who gave to one no meed 
But blazoned loved paternity, thy star 
Should be out-witted by fair Viola, 
Who so disguised herself by word and deed 
To ope thy heart's locked gates, and merry lead 
Thee witless captive through Illyria. 
Oh woman ! woman ! since the birth of Eve, 
Man ever found thee hard to foil, I own. 
The vantage-ground of love you could so vex, 
But who, oh who, I pray, could once believe 
That thou, through Love, thy own charms did disown, 
More strange out-witted by thy own sweet sex. 

TO BEATRICE IN "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING." 

A jewelled flagon filled with beaded wine, 

A crystal chalice sparkling to o'erbrim, 

Rose-capped, with breaths of vineyards. Nectared film, 
Exhaling sweet the south wind's breaths divine. 
'Mid odorous fragrance sweet of eglantine, 

And whining wings of pheasants, golden dressed 

'Neath skies resplendent in an Orient west. 
Like these as brilliant the rich wit of thine, 

Sweet Beatrice, gay, mirthful maid of old, 
Sad Heros' friend and Benedick's worst tease; 

Old Leonato's child, beloved by him, 

Thyself, sweet maid, the flagon rich of gold, 
Thy wit, bright as the wine from Hippocrenes release, 

Thy life, pure as the beaded bubbling film. 



THE DISCHARGE. 

If red head Kipp'n goes wid me 

As dory-mate, I swear 
Dat you '11 be 'sponsible if he 

Kitch not his eq'l share. 
You knows as well as I, Tim Noon, 

Red Kipp'n is a bum, 
An' gits as crazy as de loon 

Wen he don't 'ave his rum. 

You 'spects I '11 sit upon de t'wart 

An' pull clem Georgie oars, 
Wile lazy Kipp'n, fat an' short, 

Lays in de bow an' snores ? 
Yer t'inks I '11 drop dem ten poun' leads 

An' yank dem cod-lines, too, 
An' scrap my nippers inter shreds, 

Fer jis er pleasin' you ? 

Yer intress is my intress, Skip, 

Yer welfare is my plum ; 
I 's good as gold fer ev'ry trip, 

Be big er less de sum. 
I '11 strain dese arms dat 's now like ropes, 

An' swell dese j'ints an' knucks 
T'rough laders of ole Nepses soaps; 

But not wid shiftless hucks. 

I guvs yer warnin', Ski]), 't is bes' 

Yer let Red Kipp'n go; 
I guvs yer warnin', an' I guess 

Yer '11 t'ank me fer some show. 



THE DISCHARGE 113 

I 'se keeps yer from er 'aving, Skip, 

Wen wese begin ter sail ; 
An' de ole craf wid roll an' dip 

Is duck'n' out de gale. 

Dc debbil, Skip ! dere 's Kipp'n now, 

Er reeling down der w'ari ; 
His head like some ole brin'le cow, 

Er nipp'n' grasses off. 
Hello dere, Kipp'n! Yer der stuff; 

Ter scare der fish from 'ooks, 
An' make dis ole craf reef an' luff, 

Er debbling wid der spooks. 

Caught de ole 'ooman's rickets, Kip, 

Or 'ave de 'appy shuff ? 
See, der good rum he 's spill'n, Skip ! 

Say, Kipp'n, dat 's ernough ! 
If you 's gut all yer guzzle 'old 

We 'II takes er swig, hey Skip ! 
It s good fer nights w'en felle's cold 

An' can't mu's up er chip. 

Say, Kipp'n, ware 's yer freck's all gone ? 

Yer face is w'ite as milk. 
Yer looks er sun flow'r 'mid der corn 

Dat 's tossing out its silk ; 
Yer look er camp-fire in de snow 

A candle wid its light ; 
Yer look likes w'en de win's dey blow 

De stars out in de night. 

Ole ooman 'ad a fracas, Kip, 

Or guved yer lots er jaw ? 
Yer better jerk yer bag dis trip 

An' study wid her law. 



H4 THE DISCHARGE, 

I t'inks yer '11 find it to our likes 
'Dan in de bow to snore, 

W'i'le oder peoples wurk like tikes. 
An' guvs yer 'alf on shore. 

Don't try ter pull dat butt apart ! 

Nor spill dat pickle Youn', 
Nor try to play an oxin cart 

Wid dem ole fish flakes brown, 
Nor cirkis on de capsin, 

If yer do not want a baf, 
For de old docks can make one stiff, 

Wen no one 's roun' ter laf. 

I say dere, Kipp'n, Skip an' me 

Ben waggin' roun' our jaw, 
An' wes conclude er man at sea 

Mus' kine er lif er paw, 
Mus' jump er roun', an' crack de oars., 

An' guv de foams er swish, 
An' slat de ropes, an' sweat 'is pores 

Ter git er trip er fish. 

An' we 's conclude dat you 's n. g. 

Fer w'at dis craf recjuires; 
An' we 's conclude you 'd better be 

Still ten'nin' rumses fires. 
Ye'd make a headlight in de night, 

A signal in de gale, 
But you's er wrong one, where de right 

Is needed w'en we's sail. 



TO THE HEROES OF THE AMSTERDAM. 

Who says that tin* days of chivalry's o'er? 

The hero lives only in deeds of the past ? 
That the fountain of Hippocrene ne'er shall outpour 

A beaker again, or the laurel wreath cast? 
Who says that the hero lives but in the past, 

When the tumult of wars made heroes uplift, 
And men sank to earth by the sabre held fast, 

That the paeons of Liberty fairer might drift ? 

Who savs that the killing of men was the thing, 

The embryo dreadful for heroes to rise, 
From the days of the old, when the vestals did sing, 

And incense uprolled o'er the sad sacrifice? 
From the tumult of wars, since the earth first began 

To the last civic strife that our own hearts do know, 
Who says that the life blood of man must drench man, 

Forever, forever, e'er heroes shall show ? 

Who says that the treacherous wastes of the deep, 

The fickle Rialto, where winds do convene. 
Where earth seems forgotten, and life seems asleep, 

And only hereafter forever seems seen ; 
Where night seems to double each twinkling star, 

Or cannily blots them forever from view, 
And the moon twins itself 'neath billows afar 

That a hero might here find something to do? 

Let wars be forgotten ; for a time let be dead 
The acclaims of the Victor weighting a past. 

Let the wild rush of legions and infantry tread, 

Turn, turn thy gaze, where the depths lengthen vast: 



n6 TO THE HEROES OF THE AJrSTERDAM. 

Where fierce billows lift, and men pale and white 
Are battling with Death, to make love .still shine, 

With nothing to gain, mayhap heaven's light, 
But oh, still proclaiming a hero's divine. 

Let strife be forgotten, for a time let be dead 

The acclaims of the \ ictor, weighting the past. 
Immortelles of genius have bayed each proud head, 

Their glories long voiced by. the centuries vast. 
Let the dark strife of nations, and despotic sway, 

For a time fade from view, o'er Lethe's streams far fade, 
For the lutes of my heart are singing a lay, 

List, list to this song, that they strangely have played. 

SONG. 

The cry of the norther has echoed the waste. 

A vessel is reefing and furling, 
Dark storm-clouds aloft through a furrowed air haste 

And cold foams are hissing and curling. 
Death glares to the port, death glares to the lea, 

I )eath is abaft, and trembles amain, 
fired men hope, still a pitiless sea 

Sings on forev'r, its wild, wild refrain : 

Batten and reef, speed cables and send 

Anchors of iron to fathoms below, 
Here am I master, till time's race doth end, 

Here am I master, full well do ye know. 

Batten and reef, flare signals, and ring, 

Echoless cries on blasts of the wind ; 
My hydra-like legions are lithe when they spring, 

Fierce as the hydra, they crush and they bind. 



TO Till-: HEROES OF THE AMSTERDAM. 117 

Batten and reef, and baffle me bold, 

Only some symbol of love shall o'er sway 
The power divine unrelentless I hold, 

And life die for life in my arms cold and gray. 

The fierce deep is answered, o'er mist and o'er spray, 

A smoke-plume up-curls on the rage of the wind, 
From a far fatherland, for many a day, 

It has sped loving hearts from loving hearts kind; 
ll has rolled o'er the calm, and drifted the wave., 

And blued the white mists of the east, cold and drear, 
And canniry sunk on the unmarked grave, 

Where forever has vanished hope's saddest tear. 

Like a talisman, beautiful, nearer it drifts, 

Despairing hearts cry to a God, joys proclaim. 
Grander, still grander, it gloriously lifts, 

While Fear's pallid cheeks light Hope's brightest flame. 
It comes with the tribute the fierce sea demands, 

A fatherland's children, beloved, and most dear, 
A sacrifice, ringing the breadths of all lands, 

Bound with Youth's garlands, never to sear. 

It glorious lifts, like a herald divine 

It fills the bright chalice of joy to o'crfill, 
And bids bravest souls drink deep of the wine. 

Pulsating the hearts of fear, almost still. 
It glorious lifts, while Heath grimly waits 

for the tribute divine, that love grandly pays, 
While on wail the depths like hideous Fates 

Chanting the dirges of fierce roundelays. 

Batten and reef, flare signals and ring 

Echoless cries on blasts of the wind. 
My hydra-like legions are lithe when they spring. 

Fierce as the hydra, they crush and they hind. 



8 TO THE HEROES OF THE AMSTERDAM. 

Batten and reef, and baffle me bold, 

Only some symbol of love shall o'erswav, 

The power divine unrelentless I hold, 

And life die for life, in my arms cold and gray. 

Yon know the rest, how they battled the deep, 

And baffled the winds, and strained the stout oar, 
And gave up their lives for the hero's proud sleep, 

And sank in Death's arms, for Lethe's silent shore. 
How they battled for Love, that love's saintly star 

Might shine on refulgent, forever, to man, 
Till beautiful over heaven's white bar 

The breaths of existence have lengthened their span. 



WHEN WINDS BLEW DEAD AHEAD. 

" I would not sail to-night, Jim, 

The winds blow dead ahead ; 
The moon low o'er the deep, Jim, 

Brings to me thoughts of dread. 
Forgive a woman's fears, Jim, 

But oh! I see you now 
As I saw you in my dream, Jim, 

With sea-weeds 'hove your brow. 

" I told you when we wed, Jim, 

When 1 was young and fair, 
Those charms that I have lost, Jim, 

By sharing every care ; 
1 told you when you won, Jim, 

The heart I gave to thee, 
In taking you I 'd share, Jim 

Kach sorrow of the sea. 

" But oh, last night I dreamed, Jim, 

I dreamed that you were dead ; 
I dreamed the winds blew fierce and wild 

The winds blew dead ahead. 
Like trembling ghosts, upon the sea 

I saw each white sail shake, 
I saw you at the wheel, Jim, 

Believe me, for your sake. 

" I saw the vessel tack, Jim, 

Then on the waves stand still , 

I saw her lurch and plunge, Jim 
Then rv'rv canvas fill ; 



WHEN WINDS BLEW DEAD AHEAD. 

I saw you at the wheel, Jim. 

Plain as I see you now, 
Your face was deadly pale, Jim, 

The damp lay o'er your brow. 

" I heard you give commands, Jim, 

Astanding there alone, 
I saw a tear-drop fall, Jim, 

I claimed it for my own; 
I saw the combers rise, Jim, 

And lifted high in air, 
I saw the vessel plunge, Jim, 

Sink down with you so fair. 

" I saw you lift a hand, Jim, 

Above the seething foam, 
I heard you call my name, Jim, 

And murmur child and home; 
Then clown, down, down, I saw you sink 

Down in the silent deep, 
While sea-weeds kissed your brow, Jim, 

Cold in death's final sleep. 

" I 'm haunted by a fear, Jim, 

The dream it will come true, 
That I am soon to lose you, Jim, 

Beneath the waters blue ; 
I see you lying, wan and pale, 

Upon the ocean's bed, 
My dream foretold just such a night, 

And winds blew dead ahead. 

' I '11 go and close the shutters, Jim, 
And by the drift-wood flame 

I 11 bring again some olden time 
When first I took your name; 



WHEN WINDS BLEW DEAD AHEAD. 

I'll banish every thought, Jim, 

Of dreams, and ev'ry fear 
Shall turn to smiles and love, Jim, 

Just knowing you are near. 

" The light is going out, Jim, 

The flame is nearly dead, 
'T is nearing on to twelve, Jim, 

The hour to part, you said. 
The child within the cradle, Jim, 

And I so pale and frail, 
Might touch your heart a bit, Jim, 

To weather such a gale." 

He took her trembling hand in his, 

And marked its dainty grace, 
Then, laughing, brushed the curly locks 

From off her pale white face. 
" Oh. little wife, why fret and moan 

Of dreams that ne'er come true ; 
Three days ago, my trawls were set 

Beneath the waters blue. 

" I know the winds blow dead ahead, 

And frightful is the gale, 
But if we weather through the night, 

At morn you '11 see my sail." 
He took her trembling hands in his, 

He kissed her blue lips cold; 
He swung his clothes bag o'er his arm ; 

Strode out the doorway old. 

She heard him lift the dripping oars, 

And row out in the stream, 
And saw the wet sails slowly hoist, 

The signal lanterns gleam ; 



WHEN WINDS BLEW DEAD AHEAD. 

She saw him in the dark night fade, 

And vanish from her sight, 
As 'bove her rain-wet curly head, 

She held the lantern's light. 

He loved her, that confiding wife, 

Think not he lightly cared, 
He only did what fishermen 

In Glo'ster town have dared. 
Each hope, each joy lay in the sea, 

His wealth, out in the stream ; 
\nd price of fish at morning 

O'er weighed the women's dream. 

He sailed that night and ne'er came back, 

And oft a woman pale, 
When winds blow fierce, and winds blow wild 

And dreadful is some gale, 
Will sadly kiss a listening child 

And stroke its curly head, 
And tell it what a dream forewarned, 

When winds blew dead ahead. 



EVENING AT N1LES BEACH. 

Fair eve, in purple mantles clad, again the hills have 

crowned, 
And by the reedy lilied mere, the birds their vespers sound; 
1 .spurn dull rare, and in the lovely twilight's mellow shade, 
I watch the regal pageantry the dying sun has made. 
And thmu my heart's delight, oh, lovely, lovely sea-girt isle, 
Alone with thee I '11 bid sad parting day whose fading smile 
Still lingers soft upon thy rugged cliffs, a sweet delight, 
Whispering a tender farewell, — a fond good night. 
Ah, lovely isle, not alone, when eve doth bid adieu 
With fond embrace, that then thy charms are brought ti 



view. 



Lovely alway, e'er, where the alien hand, those charms doth 

rend 
That Flora, with her laughing sylvan train, did joyous lend 
To cheer the lonely path, or sheltered by-way, half forgot, 
That I in eagerness of youth, with happy pleasure sought, 
And with a soul entranced, enriched with beauties that did 

teem, 
Light-hearted stole away and planned my boyhoods early 

dream ; 
Watching the white sails fade away, I 'd think of rovers bold 
Who dwelt in mighty castles great, the feudal days of old; 
Watching the reedy mere and the green flags, slender 

growing, 
I 'd dream of Merrie England, and Avon sweetly flowing. 
Oft in thy rugged oaken grove, bordered by brake and fen, 
I'd picture lovely Rosalind and Celia in Arden ; 
Hear merry Jaques' cheering laugh, and see the exiled 

Duke — 



124 EVENING AT NILES BEACH. 

Wanderers from ancestral halls — a usurper's hand had took. 
Oft by some lovely daisied glade I 'd linger all alone, 
And read, and laugh at Audrey, to believe her fond Touch- 
stone ; 
Nor close my book, till o'er the fields, the curfew bell I 'd 

hear, 
The Conqueror's rigid custom, in the days of great Shakes. 

peare, 
That genius, who has left the world the richest thoughts yet 

given, 
Save the blind bard who, long ago, revealed the strife in 

Heaven. 
And as I 'd linger, in some fond forgotten day's decline, 
Some holy Sabbath eve, and hear the bells their praises sign, 
I ne'er could doubt the influence of a greater Being's spell, — 
Where'er I turned his wonders shone o'er forest, field, and fell ; 
And when my youth had fled, the early spring-time of my 

life, 
My happiest clays, my boyhood's days, so free from care and 

strife, 
And I began life's fickle road that leads to joy or pain, 
I 'd dream of you, oh, lovely isle, and wish those days again. 
E'en in the city's brilliant glare, where stranger faces throng, 
Amid the stage's excited cries of mirth, and jest, and song, 
I 'd dream again the long ago, my heart would find content, 
I 'd think of you, oh, lovely isle, and of the joys once lent. 
And now a truant do I come, oh, lovely isle, once more, 
To linger in this day's decline beside thy rocky shore. 
And as I view the old, old charms that lie within my range, 
I see to-night with tearful eye, a change. 
There high upon the hill I see the lone dismantled Fort, 
Built in Rebellion's bloody war to guard the old seaport; 
Its walls have shrunken to decay, by brambles overgrown, 
Forgotten, it silent stands, a suppliant all alone. 



EVENING AT MLES BEACH. 125 

The barns, that once in summer time were brim with sweel 

mown hay, 
Are tottering now 'neath Time's grim load; and dust)- cob- 
webs gray 
Have veiled the dusty windows, yet the merry martins' call 
Remind again the long ago as the silent shadows fall. 
Yet happy I, for all thy change is man's, not nature's fair; 
Though secret byways common now, and stranger voices fill 

the air, 
Man cannot change the sunset's kiss athwart thy vernal green, 
Or change the sea's tumultuous Might, where the ghostly 

beacon 's seen. 
Man with all his skill, that blooms the upturned sod, 
Cannot bring so sweet a bloom as thy gardens decked by God. 
Man can but paint, but imitate, though skilful may he be, 
Thy -rand old cliffs, thy waving green, thy ever-changing sea. 

'Mid the fulness of our glories, 
From the Past's immortal stories, 
Man was man, and God creator, 
To a sternly written law ; 
Could Apelles, in his longing 
To the rose, his canvas 'doming, 
Paint the perfume of its beauty, 
Wafted o'er its native lea? 
Or when Angelo in rapture, 
Vainly sought from Life to capture 
Voice for marble lips unmoving, 
Almost human he did bring, 
Learn the might of unseen power 
I behold this evening hour, 
In sweet glories regal dying, 
That to Lethe's dark lands do wing? 



A KID FOR HIS KEEP. 

They sent him aloft, in the dead of night, 

To furl the white topsail above the mast, 
When the white sprays dashed o'er the riggings light, 

And the white wake lay like a viper vast. 
They sent him aloft from a dreamy sleep 

Of a love and home that he never knew, 
They sent him aloft for to earn his keep, 

In the dead of night when the wild winds blew. 

The watch at the wheel saw him slowly climb, 

'Way up where the ropes and the riggings sung, 
And saw him shudder full many a time, 

As he trembling reached where the topsail swung. 
The watch at the wheel saw a tiny speck, 

A boy for his keep, on the cross-trees light, 
As the vessel swept o'er reef and o'er wreck, 

And through silver foams of the phosphors white. 

The watch at the wheel had enough to do, 

For a craft at sea for one man is care, 
To steer it well in the day's bright blue, 

Let alone what the night doth bid him dare. 
The watch at the wheel had enough to do, 

To think of a boy, and one for his keep, 
' Way up where the winds like mad goblins blew, 

A-furling a white topsail, half asleep. 

The watch at the wheel was a thing to care, 
Yet many a time did his brave heart start, 

As he heard the shrouds taunt the screeching air 
And saw a white hand clutch the sails apart. 



TO A MESSINA LINNET. 127 

The watch at the wheel knew ten tired men 
Like dead things slept in their bunks below, 

And a needful rest was more than to ken 

How a " kid " got on, or how winds did blow. 

The watch at the wheel had enough to do, 

As he whirled the helm like a thing of stone, 
To peer the white mists where the bow sprays flew, 

And deafened the creak of the windlass's groan. 
The watch at the wheel had enough to think, 

Than to bid his thoughts to gray cross-trees high, 
To curve the sogged keel o'er the red moon's brink, 

And keep the damp rails from its ruddy dye. 

The watch at the wheel, when he saw him fall, 

And heard the dull splash as the vessel swept, 
Was the only one man out of them all, 

W hen the crew came up, that e'en sighed or wept. 
He knew what the night had been, well enough ; 

He could hear the winds, see the dark seas rough, 
And, furling a white topsail, half asleep, 

A trembling boy, a kid for his keep. 



TO A MESSINA LINNET. 

Swekt bird, enchanting thoughts bright bringine 
Sweet bird from fair Messina's vales, 

In thee I hear gay laughter ringing, 
In thee I list love's sweetest tales. 



128 TO A MESSINA LINNET. 

Ye robed minstrel, brown and golden, 
With em'rald hues upon thy breast, 

In thy sweet songs come fond days olden, 
And proofs of love, in love's behest. 

Sweet bird, in you bright eyes are gleamim 
Sweet bird, in you light footsteps fall ; 

Sweet bird, in you a heart o'er-teeming 
Wak'ns again to your tuneful call. 

Sweet bird, in you a gay beguiler, 

With voice as sweet as thy sweet song, 

Too pure for purity to revile her, 
Comes again in a charming wrong. 

Sweet Beatrice (thou 't never seen her), 
But long ago, bright bird, there dwelt 

In thy sweet clime, blue-skied Messina, 
A maiden that would rapture melt. 

A winning tease, for aye enchanting, 
A human rill ot rippling mirth, 

From honor's paths never recanting, 
Lived, sweet bird, in thy land of birth. 

All loved her, this bright living jewel, 
All loved her, this enchanting tease. 

Perhaps, sweet bird, she loved full well 
Such sylvan melodies as these. 

Perhaps, sweet bird, when eve declining- 
Strewed roses in her fond pathway, 

In sweet Sicilian bowers reclining, 
She listened to such plaintive lay 



LOR EL. 



129 



As thou, sweet bird, to-night art singing, 
Singing in melody's sweetest chime; 

Songs of enchantment dreamily winging 
Joys of the sweet Sicilian clime. 



LOREL. 



Sweet Lorel sits at even's close, 

Her clasped hands are white and cold; 
Above her pale, white forehead blows 

Her unloosed tresses fair of gold. 
Sweet Lorel, like an angel seems, 

Unearthly, in the quaint old room. 
Around her like an halo, gleams 

The sunlight, fading into gloom. 

When Lorel woke at yester-morn, 

How blithe and sweet the birds they suno- 
Upon each cheek a rose was born ; 

Like bands of gold her tresses hung. 
She kissed a stalwart youth ; a smile 

She bade him bear across the waves, 
That rosy gleamed for many a mile 

Above the gloom of nameless graves. 

All through the day the birds they sung, 
And like a bird sung Lorel fair, 

Two snowy curtains light she hung 
Above the latticed windows rare; 



130 LOREL. 

And sweet, a pale, white blooming rose 
She placed against the snowy lace, 

She little dreamed, at even's close, 

Like that white rose would be her face. 

All through the morn the breezes blew 

The lily, fragrant in the vale. 
The blackbirds o'er the rushes flew, 

And 'mid the brake, low piped the quail. 
The mallows sent their regal gleam, 

And flecked the merry swallow's breast, 
That sped in one enchanting dream 

Above the lily's saint-like crest. 

Like lilies fair upon the sea, 

The white gulls dreamed upon the brine ; 
The curlews piped in merry glee 

Above the gray sand's silver line. 
The golden sun attained its height, 

And slow, with listless, tired feet, 
Athrough the clovers, pink and white, 

The kine came down through meadows sweet. 

You'd hardly dream that 'mid the bliss 

Of that fair, early summer's day, 
A smile forever and a kiss 

Lay on an ice-cold cheek of clay. 
You 'd hardly dream a maiden's face, 

So richly vying with the rose, 
Would fade away, and lilies place 

Each tender blush, at even's close. 

'T was 'twixt the clay and early gloom 

They brought him slow, across the sands, 

And entered in the quaint old room, 

And laid him down with rough brown hands. 



A WINTER BANKER. 131 

'T was 'twixt the night and day's sweet close, 

Sweet Lord's hopes forever fled, 
As slow she cut the pale, white rose, 

And placed it 'bove his heart of lead. 



A WINTER BANKER. 

They left the port when the grim night fell; 

In the stern they huddled, and gazed on home. 
The east wind bidding the keeper's bell 

To ring good-bye o'er the flut'ring foam. 

In the stern they huddled, the veering wind 

A bidding them shift to port in glee, 
A moment to rest, and then madly find 

Some freak to lurch them again to lea. 

There were men too old, with hearts too dead, 
To brave and to dare what young hearts do; 

There were men whose lives Fate's paths had led 
To wear 'bove their brows its dark tattoo. 

There were men, fond fathers, with shattered hopes; 

There were men, hard masters, no wife could miss, 
If Death should sunder the bolted ropes, 

And sunken cheeks should the unseen kiss. 

There were men who 'd sing if death should come, 
And laugh to take their chance anon ; 

Men whose full lives were the total sum 
Of sin supreme, most grossly won. 



1 32 OXE AUTUMN DAY. 

There were men so earnest men so good, 

Devotion flaming from out each eye; 
True men who so bravely had withstood 

The festering tooth of calumny. 

There were youths who hoped some day to be 
A captain bold and to whirl the wheel, 

To give commands, and to some day see 
A stately craft with the trimmest keel. 

There were youths whose cheeks a mother 'd kissed 

In sweet Acadia's hallowed lands ; 
Brave youths, that the fiords' breaths had glist 

In the far Norwe'ian's marbled lands. 

There were souls there 'sembled, when grim night fell, 
There were faces blended, when for aye she sped, 

That over my soul has left a spell, 

That strange haunts me ; they were for the dead. 



ONE AUTUMN DAY. 

Through flames of the leaves 

The late robins wing, 
My heart, my heart grieves, 

As sadly they sing. 
The thistle has aged, 

Its pink tresses are wan ; 
The linnet has paged 

Sad notes in the corn. 
Mv heart, my heart grieves. 



ONE AUTUMN DA Y. 133 

There 's sighs in the brak'n 

Wherever I go; 
In hill paths forsak'n, 

The gray wrens crouch low; 
The crickets cry eerie, 

Like uncanny things, 
While out en the sea 

The ghost foam upswings. 
My heart, my heart grieves. 

Discordant the wind 

Is moaning aloft ; 
The black beetles find 

No rest on the croft ; 
The crowen watch sternly 

From gray ledge and wall, 
While out on the sea 

The winter gulls call. 
My heart, my heart grieves. 

The flame of the noon 

Bids early the night; 
To worry the moon 

Dark storm clouds delight ; 
There 's grieving and fretting 

Wherever we go, 
But let's be forgetting 

What makes our sorrow; 
Though in grief's sad setting, 

Much, much, do we know, 
My heart, and we grieve. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

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